


Don't You Hear Me Calling You?

by lumos8



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: AU, Discussion of Abortion, Established Relationship, Freddie has no idea, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Maylor - Freeform, Maylor baby, Mild Language, Mpreg, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Third Person, Period-Typical Homophobia, movieverse because it's too awkward to write this about real people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2019-10-12 21:32:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 42,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17475350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumos8/pseuds/lumos8
Summary: Freddie has left to record his solo albums.Brian and Roger try to figure out their relationship.They are going to get surprised.Deaky is precious.And I'm really bad at descriptions. Also, I adore 39, hence the title.





	1. Chapter 1

Life in a band, as existing and desirable as it might seem, could wear out. It didn’t mean they had lost their drive for rock and roll or for performing on stage in front of thousands of people. Sharing their most intimate feelings and emotions was one of the best parts of their job, as they could talk about what really mattered and would be heard.

But there was the other side of the coin some of them could tolerate no longer.

Every step they took was followed, each word they said was scrutinised, and at times it felt like they didn’t belong to themselves anymore.

He knew how vulnerable Freddie could feel being under the spotlight all the time, with the press trying to nose about his private life. The three of them were free of such kind of attention, and Fred was left to fight on his own.

'Freddie the freak, Freddie the fag. I’m tired of touring, aren’t you? Album, tour, album, tour. I want to do something different.'

Deep inside he could agree with Freddie, thinking maybe it was too much after all. Normally he’d be the one to insist they needed the frenzy that had become their life. It was the only life they had known for many years, and he’d dare to say they would have never chosen another one. Today, however, he hadn’t uttered a single word yet. As much as he hated to accept what his friend was saying, he couldn’t deny it either.

'We’re a band. That’s what bands do. _Album, tour, album, tour_.'

Brian in his turn was trying to hold onto it because…well, because it was Brian.

It almost seemed to be a natural instinct for him to fix things that were breaking and to use his perfect reasoning to talk some sense into his friends. Well, mostly into Roger and Freddie, as Deaky was certainly the calmest man to ever walk the Earth, even though with a tendency to give death stares from time to time.

'Queen will go on. But I need to do something different. Do you know what I mean? I need to grow.'

So _that’s_ what it was about. Roger decided to forget about his intentions not to interfere in the argument for once. The whole point of the conversation wasn’t that they needed a break; it was that Freddie didn’t need the rest of them anymore.

'A solo album?' Deaky voiced what each of them was thinking anyway.

'Two, actually.'

Prenter was grinning like a Cheshire cat, and Roger’s urge to twist his neck was bigger than ever. Paul had to be the one behind this.

'Another word out of you and I'll throw you out the bloody window,' Roger snapped, even though he knew the other man was totally enjoying the situation.

He, on the other hand, was losing his composure. Was now Queen not good enough? Or weren’t they? And how exactly were they hindering Freddie from growing? Apart from the financial part, of course. A four million deal for two albums was a lot even for their band. And now he was telling everyone they needed a break!

He suddenly felt a wave of dizziness wash over him and had to lean on the sofa for a moment, but the last freaking thing he was going to do now was to retreat.

'I won't compromise my vision any longer.' Freddie turned his back, as he always did when he thought a conversation had to be over.

'Compromise? Are you joking? You were working at Heathrow before we gave you a chance.'

They would argue a lot, but it was never like this. Being late, playing too slow or too fast, going Disco – all those things they could eventually talk over, but would they ever get over this?

'You just killed Queen!' he wasn’t sure he had any arguments left, but he couldn’t help this.

_You'd be a dentist...drumming 12/8-time blues at the weekend at the Crown and Anchor._

Good. If the man thought Roger or the others weren’t worth anything without him then he could bloody well go. Which he did.

Paul sympathetically put his hand on Roger's shoulder, as if they both weren’t aware of how elated Prenter actually was. It felt disgusting.

As soon as the two men left, the drummer rushed to the balcony, without saying a word to Brian and John. He was angry, desperately needed fresh air and was getting nauseous. He also needed a smoke which didn't quite make sense at the moment, but he couldn’t care less.

Roger lit a cigarette and tried to calm down and figure out what they were supposed to do now. What was he supposed to do? He wasn’t sure. _Brian might as well write the darned dissertation_ , he thought. The man was fascinated by the Universe almost as much as by music, and it certainly wasn't nice to make fun of it. Roger would sometimes tease him about that, too, but now he promised himself that he would read that dissertation. The guitarist would probably joke about him not understanding a single word, but he’d do it anyway. He wouldn’t let Freddie’s words come true.

_We're not a family. I don't need anyone._

As much as Roger was angry with the singer for ditching them to have a solo career, those words hurt the most. They were all so different, yet they always managed to accept and understand each other, and despite their endless arguments, there was always mutual caring in the band. It was not that he was quite pleased with what he had said himself. He knew perfectly well how lucky Brian and he were to have ever met Freddie, and it definitely wasn't about giving him a chance. Now that might be over, and he wasn’t sure whether he’d lost his band, his friend, or both.

He closed his eyes when nausea hit him again. He never liked the cold London wind, but now feeling it on his face seemed the greatest sensation ever.

'Are you okay, Rog?' he heard a voice say behind his back.

His friend Brian. Actually, _his much-more-than-a-friend_ Brian. He smirked at the thought that Freddie hadn’t sniffed out such an intriguing detail about his bandmates. Oh, he’d be _hysteric_. Mercury had a nose for things like that and yet he failed to see what was unfolding right in front of him.

Although, to tell the truth, Roger himself didn’t quite understand what was happening, where it was going and how it was supposed to end. He had long abandoned the idea that what they were doing was wrong. It was a natural need like eating or sleeping, and even though it was a relatively new thing, it was as strong.

There were no obligations for them. He sought comfort in his friend and found it, after all, that’s what friends were for, wasn’t it? Not a soul knew what was happening between the two men, and they intended to keep it that way. Roger didn’t expect Brian to feel any different someday, and his own feelings towards the older man didn’t really matter. He knew that, in a way, they were always there, and he could handle it just fine. But what they had now was too fragile, and Roger couldn't afford to ruin it by getting overly sentimental. Besides, Freddie might have already ruined it anyway, as at this point there was no Queen anymore, and not working with Brian might mean not seeing him as well.

'Yes,' the blond smiled, knowing very well he wouldn’t convince the older man.

'He’ll change his mind, you know. And maybe…despite what just happened…maybe we really need a break after all. What ya think?'

'Yeah, probably,' Roger averted his eyes, thinking something over, but then just smiled again. 'I also think it’s getting bloody cold, we’d better go inside, I’m freezing.'

'You go, Rog, I’ll stay here for a moment.'

The blond man was about to say something but then just nodded and left the balcony. They would work this out. Somehow.


	2. Chapter 2

Brian was lying in his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. He’d just woken up and wasn’t sure what time it was. It took him hours to finally fall asleep and he didn’t really care if he’d overslept.

His bandmates would usually call him an early bird for his habit of waking up as they called it _at crack of dawn_ , which wasn’t usually the case, but he still would get up early if he was able. When they lived together at Ridge Farm he’d always be the one to rise. The man liked the calmness of the mornings in the quiet countryside, and the hours when he could stay alone and just think, or maybe work on a song or two. The memories of that time were among the fondest for the guitarist, even though they didn’t have much money and weren’t so famous back then. Brian missed the way they used to work and record in shabby studios with hardly any equipment necessary for the process. He missed it because it felt real.

Now everything was different. Freddie was on his own, and all they faced was uncertainty.

He could do the same, he thought. There were songs he wanted to discuss with the singer next time in the studio, but now that next time was hanging in the air, and he wasn’t even entirely sure it would come.

The previous day had left a nasty taste in his mouth, and he didn’t know how to deal with the situation now. Freddie made it quite clear he wasn’t going to change his plans for the band’s sake, and Brian wasn’t too eager to ask him either. It wasn’t that he was too proud to talk to the man in private, in a civilized way, without Paul throwing in his two cents every now and then and Roger losing his temper.

The thing was, even though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, the singer’s words did hurt his feelings after all.

As much as he admired Freddie and his talent, they all had contributed to the band equally, writing songs, playing concerts, bandaging their bloody fingers afterwards. They had stuck together through thick and thin, having neither money nor success. What they had when they started the band was their will to create, their mutual love for music and each other. It lasted for a while, but now things seemed to be the other way round, and he wasn’t going to play the peacemaker again. Brian would still love to have everything the same way as it was before, working together like they used to, but if Freddie wanted autonomy he could have it. He knew Deaky thought the same and Roger…well, he’d need to take his time or…smash a few objects to get used to this, but Brian was sure he’d soon be alright. Roger would fly off the handle very easily but he wasn’t someone who’d cling to the past for too long.

Brian finally looked at his alarm clock and found out it was much later than he thought. They had decided to meet at the studio at 11 to talk everything over and to figure out what to do next. Miami was to come, too, and Brian was sorry the man hadn’t been present during the argument himself. He certainly didn’t feel like retelling the events of the previous day; let alone what they had said to each other. Yet they still had to explain why there probably was no Queen anymore.

_Statistically speaking, most bands don’t fail, they break up._

Brian smirked, remembering how annoyed Freddie got from John’s statement years ago. Because of course it wasn’t going to be their case. Frankly speaking, they didn’t even think they would fail.

_Why the hell would you say something like that?_

Anyways, an innocent joke now might become quite an unpleasant prophecy.

Brian dressed and went into the kitchen, realising how hungry he was. He quickly finished his tea and toasts, thinking about what he was supposed to say at the meeting, but there was nothing he could think of.

It was the end of August, but the weather didn’t seem to care a lot about what the calendar said. It was chilly outside as he closed the door, leaving for the studio, but Brian liked it this way much better and would rather walk there had he not been in a hurry.

When he entered the studio, John was already there. The bass player was sat on a sofa, leisurely looking through a magazine on his lap, and smiled as the curly man flopped next to him. Deaky always had this nonchalant air about him and would keep his calm when everyone else couldn’t, which Brian really appreciated. And it didn’t mean the other man wasn’t upset, it was just the way John was.

Roger came some ten minutes later, and Brian noticed the drummer didn’t look too well. He was paler than usual, and the bags under his eyes indicated that the man had probably spent the night drinking in a bar, which he liked to do when he was upset. Brian was normally against drowning one’s sorrows but he’d be a hypocrite to say the same thought hadn’t crossed his mind.

'Are we waiting for someone?' asked Roger after a long silence.

'Yeah, Jim’s coming, too.'

'I called him yesterday evening. What we decide now concerns him as well, you know.' Brian did try not to sound too gloomy but he was sure he did.

'I know,' the man timidly nodded but continued staring at the curly man, 'But what do we decide?'

Brian could have sworn the blond didn’t mean the band, but luckily that was something John was oblivious to.

Well, there _were_ certain things they had to discuss alone, and he had to admit, it was the part that somehow made him most nervous.

Whatever the question was, though, neither of them answered it anyway.

Before long their manager came as well, and they could begin. Miami seemed to notice the musicians were rather indecisive and unsure, and his suspicions that they weren’t actually going to suggest anything were confirmed. Not that it that mattered anyhow, because he knew perfectly well what _he_ was going to say.

They were to do exactly what they used to and were best at, which was to write music. Now they wouldn’t be as busy, of course, but once they had enough material to record they would start working again.

Miami gave Roger a skeptical look when he asked whether the manager was sure Queen was still a thing. They all appreciated the fact that the man considered them good enough to go on without Freddie, but Brian couldn’t help thinking Jim didn’t even admit the possibility that that might actually happen, and he was sure everyone realised it, too.

If he thought the lead singer would just come back as if nothing had happened, he probably was being too optimistic, but there weren’t any better options for now.

John even seemed to be a bit relieved. As much as he wanted the band to survive, he wasn’t a big fan of the rockstar life they had to lead and was glad they could have a little break after all.

When they were finally done, Miami was the first to leave. The three of them stayed a bit longer in the studio, chatting about this and that, not really in the mood at the moment to talk about work. Eventually, Deaky said he needed to go and tell Veronica how things were, as she was worried, too, and left Brian and Roger alone.

The blond man seemed unusually quiet that day, and Brian wondered whether he was still affected by what had happened. His inner voice, though, told him it most probably wasn’t the case. The things were going to change anyway, and he didn’t know how to act now. They didn’t have to see each other every day, wouldn’t be around most of the time, and it was an integral part of their…friendship?…relationship? What was it exactly?

It started two years ago during their Hot Space Tour in the US. Compared to anything else they had done before, this particular album was a hell to tour with. They didn’t quite like the sound of it, the style, the synthesizers - actually, it would be easier to name what they liked, and to add insult to injury, they had Paul hanging around 24/7. They wondered how Freddie failed to see what a dubious creature the man was, but it was beyond their power to change anything, and they didn’t want their friend to get hurt. He liked Prenter, and it was obvious.

Brian and Roger still needed to blow the steam off, though, and…it just happened.

They weren’t drunk, let alone stoned or something; in fact, Brian hadn’t been that wide-awake and sober for quite a long time, and it had nothing to do with not drinking. It was a new, unknown sensation which was slowly flooding on him, and he loved every moment of it. The first time they didn’t quite realise what they were doing and most importantly _why_ , but it just didn’t matter. It felt more right than anything ever had.  And then this invisible magnet started pulling him to his friend again and again, and whenever he needed Roger, his friend was always there.

No one could know, of course. It was just a way to calm down, a way to relax, he told himself, and had no significance any other time. They still could be who they really were, and he wasn’t much surprised to find Roger with his arms wrapped around another girl just a few hours later every time. It was Roger, the ladies man, and Brian was just… good old Brian.

However, he still dreaded the possibility someone might find out. How their bandmates stayed in the dark for so long he had no idea, and sometimes Brian seemed to catch John’s inspecting glances. He, however, attributed them to getting slightly paranoid about the whole thing.

Not that he thought there was something wrong about it, but other people might misinterpret things and make them complicated. They weren’t dating, no feelings were involved, and he surely intended to keep it that way. It would be easier for everyone.

Now, though, the inquiring stare of the other man and the silence that had fallen over the studio hinted he was supposed to do something. What, he wasn’t sure.

'So, Rog,' the man cleared his throat, trying not to sound nervous, 'any…plans for the future? What you’re gonna do now?'

'Plans? Are you joking?' Roger raised his eyebrow, looking slightly amused…or annoyed, Brian couldn’t really tell.

'No, I mean, we kind of have to keep us busy, right? I just thought you might want to work on your songs, too. You wanted an album, didn’t you?'

'Y…yes, but you sure you want to discuss it now? We’ll have plenty of time, don’t you think?'

'Well, you’ve been talking about it for a while, and I thought…'

'Look, what are you saying?' the blond stood up, crossing his arms, and Brian started thinking things weren’t going as he had hoped, even though he wasn’t sure what exactly he hoped for, 'I’m _infinitely_ glad you’ve suddenly developed such an interest in my music and all, especially after mostly neglecting it for years, but is it really that hard to stick to your point right now?'

'It’s just… _I don’t know_ , Roger, what do you want me to say?!' he was short of words, and the drummer’s sudden anger baffled him even more. Besides, what he said wasn’t fair and didn’t make sense. He did think of himself as of a supportive friend and clearly didn’t expect to be accused of neglecting his mate’s music, of all things. _No way he was talking about the darned car song again_. 'Oh, don’t be such a child,' he frowned.

The blond man just stood there looking at him for a while, perhaps expecting Brian to go on and clearly realising he wasn’t going to.

'I just wanted you to tell me if we’re through or not. _Sorry_ for thinking it was important enough to attend to; I promise I didn’t know it would make you this uncomfortable. B-but if you want me t-to go and write a bloody album just to keep myself busy so that _you_ won’t have to, then be a man for once and just say it, it’s not that I was going to make you anyway!' Roger now looked seriously pissed off, and Brian wanted to understand at which point their conversation turned into an argument. He’d already fallen out with one friend and it was nasty enough, but he was also done with Roger throwing tantrums every time something didn’t go as he’d expected.

'I didn’t say it was unimportant! But we have never discussed this… _us_ before, what do you want now? Come on, there wasn’t even such thing as _us_ , to begin with, and now you ask for explanations!' Brian felt he started boiling, and he had better shut up before it was too late, but the events of the two days were just too much for him to keep calm. 'I thought we were both fine with how things were, and now you’re putting all the responsibilities on me! Maybe you should stop acting like a child for once. I don’t know what we should do now if that’s what you’re asking, but don’t make me play your nanny all the time. You certainly didn’t need me to make decisions for you tonight at the bar, did you? Not when you had your ladies to entertain,' he smirked, though momentarily regretted his words.

The blond wouldn’t say anything and looked rather dumbfounded.

'R-roger, wait' Brian knew he screwed up when the younger man stomped to the door, not adding anything,' I didn’t mean I-' he rushed after the man, pulling him by the hand.

'Oh, don’t bother,' the blond stepped away from him, closing his eyes, suddenly sounding quiet again. Brian felt a pang of guilt, noticing how tired and unwell the man looked, now that he was standing near, and it was too much even for a very bad hangover. 'I get your point. Call me when you have something to work on.'

Seconds later Brian heard the door close behind his back. When Miami left earlier that day, the guitarist was sure there was some hope his for his life to stay relatively the same, and now for some reason, it felt like it was over.


	3. Chapter 3

Roger had been roaming the streets for a while now. The day was overly chilly to his liking, but he couldn’t think of a place to go. Heading home might seem the most reasonable option, but Roger had never been particularly good at being alone if he felt down. His safe place had always been their studio, where he could sit at his kit and drum the anger, or whatever was ailing him, out. His friends would be there, too, playing, bantering, trying to kill each other at some point, but they’d still be friends. They’d still be a family.

It was no option now. The place would only remind him of how things had changed, and, besides, Brian might still be there. The man happened to be the reason why the drummer was aimlessly wandering out there, and the last person he wished to encounter.

Roger hadn't noticed how much he'd quickened his step until he started running into strangers.

He sat on a bench, trying to catch his breath and just think. He wasn’t whiny in his nature, but, even though the mere thought of crying seemed ridiculous, he could feel his eyes well up. He hated feeling this way, but couldn’t help it either.

The man was angry with Brian for what he had said, with John for fleeing home and leaving them together; he was angry with Freddie, oh, especially with Freddie, who caused the whole bloody mess and pulled Roger out of his little world, where he felt peaceful and safe. Also, because deep down he wasn’t over his falling-out with the singer yet. He was still mad at him for dumping them like that, but, in retrospect, losing a friend that he loved _dearly_ felt much worse. No way in hell he was going to call the man first, of course, but he prayed Jim was right in his assumptions and the vocalist would come back. He needed him. They all did.

Roger was angry with every living being out there, but no one more than himself.

He knew he’d overreacted. How many times had he told himself he’d be fine with their little fling coming to an end? It surely couldn’t last, and Brian wasn’t supposed to know that it meant to Roger more than he’d ever shown. After all, the drummer did try his best to keep things as they used to be, and if that meant chasing skirts and being the life of the party, then let it be. He’d been doing it for years, come on.

It wasn’t the case for the previous night, however, and Brian’s words echoed in his mind again.

_Maybe you should stop acting like a child for once. You certainly didn’t need me to make decisions for you tonight at the bar. Not when you had your ladies to entertain._

Wasn’t it so nice of him to consider Roger a wayward drunk? Much appreciated.

Well, frankly speaking, getting hammered would sound like a decent option any other day, but all he could do that evening was to drive home and hope he wouldn’t get sick on his way. That tended to happen lately, and hardly improved his mood, which had already hit rock bottom.

He actually managed to get home without incident, and spent the rest of the evening switching channels until, eventually, fell asleep on the sofa.

He might have dodged the bullet the previous night, but still spent a considerable amount of time kneeling in the bathroom the next morning. No wonder he was late for the meeting, though Brian clearly had some other ideas about his tardiness. Roger was well aware he didn’t look his best, but it didn’t entitle that poodle of a man to assume he’d been drinking all night. It didn’t matter now, though. Brian could think whatever the hell wished.

Roger lost track of time, sitting on that bench in the middle of the street, and the weather was only getting worse. He didn’t have his car, as he had decided to get a cab to the studio, just in case his stomach was still upset, and he was nowhere near his house. It started drizzling, and in London, a light drizzle might turn into a downpour in no time. He’d better go somewhere else. The drummer was about to go and look for a nearby café when his gaze fell upon a neon sign on the wall. That was it, he thought. Should have done it long ago. His abstinence of the day before didn’t make him feel any better, and neither did it make Brian think of him any different. He wasn’t going to torture himself one more day.

The bar it was.

 

* * *

 

John began to think his decision to leave the studio early wasn’t that well-considered after all. Telling Veronica wasn’t urgent, but he knew Brian and Roger had some matters to attend, which the bass player wasn’t privy to. _Well_ , at least they thought so, and he wasn’t going to push them to share their secret unless they wanted to.

They could be more careful, though, if they really wanted to keep it secret. John himself had to distract Paul or Freddie a few times when they were seconds shy of discovering the musicians. The singer would surely laugh and say he’d never been more proud, but he wasn’t unaware of the situation for no reason, and John had to respect that. Prenter, on the other hand, could and, most probably, _would_ cause a lot of trouble. Not that there was such danger now, but… at what price?

John, however, still had to make sure there weren’t going to be any other frictions in the band, and the staring contest between his friends indicated there was indeed an elephant in the room, patiently waiting for him to go. He wasn’t sure why they looked so panicky as he was leaving, and could only hope they would act like grown-ups this time. What were the chances, though…

John would be a hypocrite to say he didn’t find the whole thing utterly, totally strange. They all knew that, despite their never-ending altercations, the two men were very close, but… _come on_ , they were still Roger and Brian. Not once in all those years had he seen them show any interest in, _well_ , men. The drummer had an actual playboy reputation, which he, by the way, maintained up to this date, and confused the bass player even more. He couldn’t figure out what was happening and started to think his friends had no idea either. John just hoped no one would eventually get hurt, but that might have already happened. Because how else could he explain the call?

 

* * *

 

Brian was now alone in the studio, thinking over what just had happened and how he was supposed to fix it. It couldn’t stay like that, for sure, Roger couldn’t just _leave_. Was he, Brian, that naïve to think he could pretend nothing had been happening between them? That they were just two friends helping each other out in the moments of stress? Was it something he truly believed in or convinced himself to believe? It all seemed ridiculous, now that he was thinking about it. He was still partially angry at Roger’s behaviour and his sudden tantrum, but he knew he’d chickened out in his turn.

Part of him was saying they would be better off this way, that they needed to stop before everything got too complicated. Things might return to normal someday; they’d again be playing together, all of them, like they used to. He’d give anything for those times to come back.

But another part, one he didn’t even know existed, wasn’t too eager to listen to his reasoning. All it was saying was that he had screwed up very badly and was scared as hell to call things by their proper names. Because as much as he kept saying they were never in a relationship, he knew exactly what losing the blond felt like. Because, well, been there, done that. It felt like a breakup. He didn’t know whether Roger felt the same, but he had made himself quite clear about their future, which was of _bandmates_. Not lovers, not even friends.

Brian was sure Roger wouldn’t stay mad at him forever; they had had much worse arguments in the past, which could even get a bit violent at some point. Smashing things was one of the drummer’s favourite things to do, and the older man often had to both stay away from the flying objects and make sure his friend wouldn’t accidentally hurt himself in the process. They would yell, curse, and make peace with each other moments later. But their friendship had never been tested this way; it had never been more than that. He almost wished the man had made a scene or something, just to know it was another silly argument, but Roger seemed to calm down very quickly, and it somewhat scared Brian. He could deal with anger, but not indifference.

Would they be able to forget it and start everything anew? He truly loved their little moments, the intimacy, which sometimes gave him a crazy adrenaline rush. He loved it all, but none of it was worth years of friendship.

Brian dialled his friend’s home number a few times, but no one picked the phone. He didn’t know whether the man wouldn’t answer or simply wasn’t home, and in Roger’s case, both options were equally probable. Brian paced around the room for a while, played the guitar, tried to work on a riff, but his mind just wandered away all the time. Something was off, their studio was unusually silent, calm...deserted, and it was really getting to him.

Things could wait. Roger could wait. Brian couldn't fix anything without sorting himself out first. 

He dialled again, and this time heard a familiar voice on the other end. He didn't know how to explain his situation without giving away too much, but still desperately needed to talk to someone.

'Hello?' said the voice again. Well, it was too late to back out now, wasn’t it? Frankly, he’d trust the man with his life, and this shouldn’t be that hard.

'C-can I come over, Deaky?' he mumbled into the phone, biting his lower lip. Yeah, _definitely_ not nervous.


	4. Chapter 4

John frowned when he saw his friend standing like that at his threshold. He’d already been wondering why it was taking the man so long to get to his house, but now the answer was rather obvious. It was raining, and Brian had apparently decided to walk there. His hair wasn’t dripping, but it had lost a great deal of its volume, and the man didn’t look like a fluffy ball anymore. Even his lanky figure now seemed somewhat smaller.

The man looked a bit flustered and wasn't too hasty to enter, so John had to basically pull him inside, closing the door.

‘So?’ he expectantly looked at the man, who was examining his living room as if it was the first time he’d ever set foot in the bassist’s house. Veronica was there, too, but seeing the man looked rather discouraged, excused herself and left the room.

‘I don’t mean to be rude, _Brian’_ said the bassist, as he sat into his armchair, ‘but I’m just curious, what on Earth could possibly happen in an hour of my absence?’

The older man was about to act as if he didn’t have the slightest idea what his friend was talking about, but probably reminded himself he had come there voluntarily and on his own initiative. Backing off was simply didn’t make sense.

 _‘Well_ , Roger and I had a small fight,’ he said, averting his eyes from John’s inspecting gaze. He had definitely decided to play it cool, but wasn't really successful in his endeavour, so far. His casual tone didn't sound half as convincing as he thought.

‘Oh, okay,’ John smirked, but then looked serious again. ‘Shall I act surprised, or shall we skip the formalities?’ he said, making Brian roll his eyes. Now he looked more like his friend. The guitarist wasn't the most boisterous person he knew, but clearly, such timidity wasn't one of his features either.

‘I just thought we might talk a bit. I’m not the one who’s done with all this mess, am I?

John nodded. He went into the kitchen and soon was back with a few cans of beer.

‘Or would you want something stronger? he asked, handing the beverage, but the curly man shook his head and took it.

‘So, what kind of a fight was it exactly?

‘Well, we talked about our plans for the future and… I mean, _I_ tried to talk and he not so much,’ the guitarist frowned and sipped his beer. ‘He said I didn’t care for his music anyway, can you fancy that?

John could see Brian was both in low spirits and quite annoyed, but this wasn’t how he’d expected their conversation to be.

‘Ehm, well, he doesn’t really talk to me now, but it’s nothing, you know, happens all the time. Just Rog being Rog.’

‘So, that’s not what you wanted to talk about?’ John asked, starting to doubt his initial ideas about the situation. Could he be wrong, and there was nothing to worry about at least for the time being?

‘Well, _partially_ ,’ Brian shrugged his shoulders, patting the arm of the chair. ‘I’m telling you, this is too much. I’ve been, well... seeing someone,’ he gave off a nervous chuckle. ‘And guess what, that’s over too.’

 _That was it, then._ He shouldn’t have set his expectations so high so soon.

John felt a bit awkward. He was almost ready to tell Brian he was aware of what had been going on so that the man would finally stop talking in such a roundabout way.  However, it meant admitting knowing something so intimate, something he definitely wasn’t _supposed_ to know.

But wasn’t it Brian who had called him anyway? How could John help when he was talking in riddles?

‘You’ve never… told us about _her_ ,’ he said, trying to catch Brian’s reaction to the pronoun, but he seemed to be more interested in the pattern of the carpet, avoiding looking at his friend in the eyes at all costs.

‘Yeah,’ he sighed. ‘It was complicated... and not serious.’

‘But it still makes you sad?’

The guitarist ignored the statement.

 _'Brian_ , that’s not what you were going to tell me, is it? John smiled, and the man in front of him suddenly looked a bit desperate.

‘No,’ he finally said. ‘I just don’t know how to explain it, so that it won’t sound crazy, because, frankly, it is a bit crazy. Not a bit, _a lot_.’

‘It’s crazy and it’s about Roger,’ added John, leaving the guitarist baffled. He frowned, but soon the wrinkles on his face started to smooth again. John couldn’t tell what the change of expression meant, but the other man suddenly looked both tired and relieved.

‘Oh, you know, don’t you?’ Brian looked at his friend, who remained silent at this remark. It was now his turn to look at anything but his interlocutor.

‘How long?’

‘Long,’ the bass player said, returning his gaze. ‘Sorry, I didn’t _mean to_ , well... I can’t unsee things, can I?’

John saw that Brian was about to blend in with his T-shirt, which was indeed of a very pleasant shade of red, but probably only for the piece of clothing.

‘I-I mean, figuratively. Just put the pieces together,” he added quickly.

Brian had now left his armchair and was pacing around the room in circles. He always did that when he was nervous.

 _‘John_ ,’ he said, turning to the bassist, to whom being addressed by his first name suddenly seemed a bit formal, right now. ‘Are you okay with this?’

The younger man tilted his head, a smirk appearing on his face again. To be honest, he was quite... unimpressed by the question and the gravity of it.

‘Do I have anything to do with it not to be okay?’ he said, looking at Brian, who stood frozen in the same spot. ‘Come on, _of course_ I am, don’t be an idiot. I mean, I can’t lie I’ve ever seen this coming, but... when it comes to you guys, it’s kinda silly to try to predict things.

He could see Brian’s face brighten for the first time since he had come to his place. Did he really think John was gonna berate or judge them?

‘I still don’t understand, though’ he said. ‘I saw Roger and you with, you know, _girls_ all the time... Mostly him, of course.’

‘Yeah, well, it’s not like we’re dating. Like I said, it wasn’t...  _serious_. _Which_ doesn’t matter, by the way, because it’s over now. He wanted to talk about it, I panicked, he rushed out, and _I_ came here. That’s it.’

‘You want me to talk to him?’ John asked. He could see that even if that thought hadn’t crossed Brian’s mind yet, he was thinking it over right now.

‘No,’ he sighed. ‘I started this, Deaky; I should be the one to fix it, too. Besides, he doesn’t even know you know.

‘What are you going to do then? the bassist asked. ‘Will you make it serious now?’

Brian gave him a weary smile and shook his head. ‘I just want him back. We can handle this; we’re grown-ups, not some hormonal teenagers. It’s not worth losing him, and nothing is.’

He approached the younger man and gave him the tightest hug he was capable to give.  

‘Thanks Deaky, I had no idea how much I needed to speak this out.’

‘You could have told me any moment, you know it, don’t you?’ John raised his brow, lightly patting the man’s back.

‘Yeah, I kinda feel guilty now,’ Brian laughed, heading to the front door. ‘I gotta go now, and thanks again.’

‘No problem, just don’t stop feeling guilty as soon as you leave.’ John chortled, standing at the door. There was so much he needed to think about. Things were changing and he needed to understand which direction their lives were going to go... Just to be prepared. Not all changes had to be bad, after all. They would sort this out; that he was sure of.

But there was still something Brian hadn't told him, and he hadn’t dared to ask. And _now_ it was eating John up. Because it happened to be the most important part, the bloody clue to the whole mess, and John wasn’t sure his friend realised it.

Whatever the answer was, though, sharing it was up to Brian, and John clearly couldn’t put such pressure on him.  He couldn’t.

 

 

'Brian!' he called out, stepping outside the threshold. The man turned around, looking at him again.

'Do you love him?'

 

* * *

  

Roger walked into an old, smoky bar, where he had not been for several years now. They couldn’t go everywhere they wanted anymore, without getting unwanted attention. He was risking to be recognised, but really couldn't care less. He’d come here for a drink and intended to get it, no matter what. The drummer lucked out, however, as the place was almost empty, and the lady behind the bar didn’t seem to pay any attention to him. Things were good so far, but he would be fine with either option.

Perhaps, later a young girl would come up and sit next to him, pretending not to know who he was, or vice versa, would talk exclusively about her _great_ love for their music. He knew those tricks so bloody well and didn’t really mind. On the contrary, they were quite amusing, and Roger would often play along with the same zeal.

And why would he mind anyway? For the sake of a man who held him cheap and treated the way Roger treated those women? Oh, what did Lennon sing? _Instant Karma’s gonna get you? Gonna knock you right on the head?_  Well, it wasn't instant, but Roger could get the point now.

 _No_ , he thought. Of course, the guitarist wouldn’t  treat him like that.

That wasn’t Brian. Unlike Roger, he was a decent, righteous, and considerate man, who actually cared about others, too.  Roger could bet the man was now all worried about their stupid quarrel, Brian hated conflicts. The thing was, it didn’t really matter, because he could also bet that back at the studio the man had completely missed his point. Oh, and there was also another distinct difference between the two situations. The drummer could admit he wasn’t always much of a gentleman with those girls and had probably given dozens of promises he never intended to keep. The thing was, they didn’t care, while _he_ was hurting despite all Brian’s bloody _decency_.

Roger decided to move away to the far, ill-lit corner of the bar. He was used to cigarette smoke, but now it made him somewhat uncomfortable, as if there wasn't enough air in the room. Well, _frankly_ , it just smelt gross, which was most upsetting. He didn't feel like giving up his little tobacco friends after so many years. They soothed and calmed him, and their only flaw was that they made a certain person nag him even harder, if that was even possible.

Now, however, they had quite an opposite effect, and Roger started to think he wasn't going to stay in the bar for long. Maybe going there wasn’t such a good idea, after all. He had decided against heading home because he hated feeling lonely, and was now sitting alone in a dirty, half-dilapidated bar, drinking second-rate scotch, and choking on second-hand smoke. He'd hoped he'd be able to distract himself from the guitarist, but that obviously wasn’t going to happen either. He didn’t even _want_ to distract himself from Brian, as much as admitting that hurt his pride. He was still angry and ready to pull a few strands right out of his signature mane, but couldn’t let him out of his mind. Because that was one of those peculiar things about Brian. He was able to get on Roger’s last nerve, and then make everything go away, calming him like no cigarette ever could.

Having sat there for another half an hour, the drummer finally finished his drink and got up from the table. To his surprise, it had left him a bit groggy and light-headed, which was kind of offensive. He had played plenty of concerts, being much more than just tipsy, and it had never affected his drumming, thank you very much. What he just had was a glass of watered-down slush.

Yeah, the first thing he was going to do, once the band got together again, was to warn everyone they had grown unaccustomed to cheap alcohol, no other way could he explain this. Well, maybe that would be the second thing. He was yet to decide what he was going to do with those two, but they surely wouldn't like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys, I just wanted to say thank you for all your comments and kudos, I really appreciate your feedback, really. I started writing this because I wanted to distract myself from certain things, but this turned out to be much more than that. So thanks a lot <3 
> 
> p.s Don't hesitate to tell me if this gets too cheesy or something:D


	5. Chapter 5

_Red for No, White for_ _Yes_ , it read.

Roger would have laughed his head off had he ever been told he'd find himself in a situation like this. Every single aspect of it was totally ridiculous, and yet here he was, fidgeting with a small cardboard box, and occasionally glancing at the clock on the wall. He re-read the instruction two times, and it said an hour’s wait was necessary for the result to be accurate. There were still some ten minutes to go, and he could feel his knees get weaker with every passing minute. He almost regretted he’d started this, but there was no way back now.        

Roger knew people didn't consider him a stubborn mule for nothing, but even he couldn't ignore certain things any longer. He wasn't feeling well, to say the least, and was running out of possible explanations and excuses for it. It had been two weeks since their lead singer made his grand exit, and he fell out with Brian, so for a while he’d been telling himself it was all due to the stress and his poor nerves. Though frankly, he hadn't been feeling too well before the aforementioned events, so it might be something he ate. Or drank. It could be anything, really, and he wasn't the kind of a person who'd sound the alarm for such a minor nuisance.  

The man had been trying to work on a few songs, taking advantage of the unusual amount of spare time he now had, but had never been less productive in his life. His mind was a complete mess, and his indisposition wouldn't let him draw his attention from it at least for a while. He was either too tired, too apathetic, or too sick to properly drum, let alone, to think of any lyrics. It all got to the point where he had to give up drinking, smoking, _and_ eating altogether, because most of the foods either smelt atrocious or disagreed with his stomach. He was getting quite used to lifelessly lying on his couch for days, switching the channels, and having some dry toasts and tea from time to time. This was quite a humbling experience, the drummer had to admit; after leading a life full of indulgence in the past years, he was now glad he’d at least found something he could eat without hugging the toilet in the very near future.

It was the boredom, though, that made it completely intolerable. He always knew he was a social creature and liked being in company, and this silly isolation was making him even more miserable. He couldn't do much to help it, though. He certainly couldn't call John; there was rarely something that could escape the bassist’s attention, and Roger didn't really want to make the man worry about him. He'd talk to Deaky once he was himself again.

He had, however, briefly talked to Brian for a few times, because the man just wouldn't stop _ringing_ , and he started not to pick up the phone at some point. He wasn't ready to meet the guitarist just yet, no matter how much the man insisted they had things to discuss. He wasn't so mad at him now, but couldn't let Brian see what kind of a mess he'd become.  He had to sort this out first.

There was a nagging thought, however, that wouldn't get out of his mind, even though, up to this very day, he’d been trying his best to dismiss it. The mere idea of it made him want to wail, and… come on, it just _couldn't be_. First of all, because last time he checked, he was still a bloke, and it was a very rare condition for his gender. Second, he couldn't find one possible explanation why would such a thing happen now and not any other time in _two darned years_. Wasn't the period long enough for him to be safe of such a possibility? It surely was. However, here he was, standing in his kitchen, waiting for a weird-looking liquid to change its colour, and praying that it wouldn't. The odds were one to million, he told himself, but he had to know for sure. Better safe than sorry.

The drummer went to the counter at which he'd been avoiding looking for the past hour. He didn't know why he had covered the tube with a napkin, but lifting it made his heart pound against his chest even stronger. His hands were all shaky, and he was nervously biting the cigarette filter.  It was the first one in the past few days and still tasted disgusting, but he wouldn't get through this without some kind of a sedative. What did the instruction say? _Red for No, White for Yes?_ He held his breath, looking down at the tube.

Crystal clear. The odds were one to million, but he wouldn't be Roger Taylor if he hadn't hit the jackpot just like that.

Roger froze up, staring blankly at the counter. Suddenly all was gone: the panic, the fear; there was not a single thought in his mind anymore. He could still feel his crazy heartbeat, but now it seemed to echo in his head and mix with the fierce banging in his ears. And then it all hit him again with a much bigger force.

The situation was disastrous. He’d never be able to get away with this. He could pose as a playboy as much as he wished, but there couldn't be two opinions on _how_ a guy could get _pregnant_. It required another guy. Roger felt like the biggest idiot to ever walk the Earth. Even the pitiful chance of this should have been enough to take measures before letting another man shag him on a regular basis. Part of him was ready to murder Brian right away for forsaking his damned prudence when they actually needed it for once.  This couldn’t end well, and he couldn’t even imagine what would happen had the tabloids found out.  Because, if they were lacking one last reason to harass the band forever, then here it was on a silver platter.

Roger finally let go of the napkin he was still squeezing in his hand and sank into the nearest armchair. Passing out didn’t sound too enticing, but felt he was almost there. Despite the strong instinctive urge, he didn't dare to place his hands anywhere near his middle section. It was no time for silly sentiments, he needed to do something. It took the drummer quite a while to collect his thoughts and come up with some sort of an action plan, which reminded him anything but an actual plan. But it was all he could think of.

He didn't care much about what he'd been thinking earlier, he didn't even care what others would think. There was only one person Roger could trust with this and needed him now, this very instant. He couldn't care less if calling the man meant swallowing his pride, admitting he'd been wrong, apologising, or, just, _whatever_. It was okay, he was in no position to be proud anymore, and he was sure the man wouldn't be too angry or harsh with him. Not when he was like this, at least.

The drummer hoped, however, he’d be able to get hold of himself while talking. He had already made one _another_ call, and sounding calm turned out to be an arduous task to complete. He still got what he wanted, though, and now only had to dial the number. Which he did and… nothing happened.  
  
'Please, _please_ , pick up,' he whispered into the phone, but could hear nothing but the never-ending beeps, which were already driving him up the wall. He was getting desperate again, and his breathing was becoming shallow and rapid.   _No way_ the man wouldn’t answer. It was a matter of life and death, and he meant it quite literally. Roger’s heart skipped a beat when he finally heard voices on the other end of the line. The connection was pretty bad, but, thank heavens, he’d at least managed to get through. He couldn’t hear much, though, and had to be fast. The call obviously could go dead at any moment.  
  
‘....yes?...h-hello?’ finally said an abrupt voice in the phone.

‘Freddie!’ he squeaked at the top of your lungs, forgetting every single thing he’d been preparing to say.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-daa!


	6. Chapter 6

‘Fred?' Roger said again when no one replied on the other end. For a few seconds all he could hear was static, but then it was gone, too.

‘Who's this?' said a much clearer voice now, and the drummer's heart sank when he realised to whom it belonged. He had to suppress the enormous urge to hang up the phone right away, reminding himself _why_ he had called, but still could feel his blood boil with every passing second. There probably wasn't any other person on planet Earth the drummer wanted to talk to less right now.

‘It's Roger' he said, trying not to sound too hostile. It was still up to that snake whether or not he would get hold of his friend, and he didn't want to risk his chance. ‘I've got to talk to Freddie, pass the phone. _Please_.’ he added, gritting his teeth.

‘Oh, hi Rog,' said Prenter in a fake benevolent voice. 'It's so nice you've called. Though I'm afraid, he's not really available now. We're working really hard, you see.'

_We_. As if he'd been doing anything but manipulating the singer and squandering his money.

‘Oh, cut the crap, Paul, this is important, I wouldn't have called otherwise,’ Roger said, feeling that he was losing his temper way faster than he'd thought. Every cell in his brain was protesting against the ridiculous conversation, but he had no other option.

‘Then tell me what it is, I'll let him know.’

Right, _sure_. He definitely was going to tell Paul fucking Prenter he was up the duff, _and guess who the daddy is_.

‘ _Paul_ ,' he said, trying to keep the remnants of his composure. ‘Just pass the blasted phone, _will you_?’

'I'm sorry Roger, but there's nothing I can do. It's out of my hands.’

‘Nothing is out of your hands!’ he exclaimed, trying not to break anything within his arm's reach. ‘And Fred's an idiot if he thinks he's in charge of _what he's doing_.’

The man kept silent for a while, probably to irritate him even more.

'You know what,' he finally said, and Roger could almost hear the man smirk. ‘I'll tell Freddie you've called, and he'll phone you back as soon as he has time. Deal?’

_Seriously_?

‘ _Yeah_ , deal.’ the drummer couldn't help but give a nervous laugh. ‘Oh, I can't believe he’s really that _blind_.’ he snapped, hanging up the phone before the other man could say anything else.

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_. Whatever he'd done so far was in vain. Calling Mary to get Freddie’s number, choosing his words, thinking over all the possible scenarios that could happen in one bloody phone call, talking to that arse - all of it was _in vain_. That Freddie would not call him back, he was sure of. Paul either simply wouldn’t tell him Roger had rung or would say his bandmates still wouldn’t let them be. Or were they former bandmates now?

He was stupid to think they could forget it all and pretend nothing had happened. Didn't the singer say that he didn't need them anymore? He might not even listen to him now, and Paul might have, unbeknownst to himself, of course,  spared Roger from another disappointment. Maybe it was all for the best.

Suddenly the drummer was no longer sure why he needed to call someone anyway. He himself knew perfectly well what had to be done, and wondered how it hadn't occurred to him first. Everything was so simple. The answer was right there all the time, and he wasn’t going to linger anymore. 

* * *

 

Jim wasn't used to this kind of scenes, and never in his life would he assume it would be Roger, of all people, to break such news to him.

The man looked at the fidgeting drummer on his chair, who was trying to look calm, but more looked like was having some sort of a tic. The prolonged silence was adding up to the tension in the room, but Jim couldn’t bring himself to react at the news in any way.

_Miami_ ,’ said the man, looking at him almost beggingly . Jim _did_ understand how much effort Roger should have mustered to come to him with this... problem, and in a way was touched by the trust, but he still couldn't get his head around what he'd just been told, and was staring at the drummer perhaps a bit longer for him to be comfortable. Though comfortable was a wrong word to describe anything which was happening to the man right now.

Jim knew he needed to say something; the man in front of him was getting more and more discouraged and looked like he was ready to flee the room in a wink.

‘So Roger, what are you planning to do now?’ was all he could think of. He at least wanted to sound normal, as if he wasn't baffled to the core by what he’d just been told. Someone needed to keep calm, and it didn't take a genius to see that it wasn't going to be the drummer.

‘What do you mean _what_?' Roger said, unable to hide any longer how nervous he was. ‘Why do you think I've come here?’

Jim wasn't sure, to be frank. He knew it was right for him as a manager to be aware of the situation, but he'd never believe that's why Roger was sitting in his office now. Pigs would fly sooner. The situation was delicate, however, and he knew he had to choose his words carefully. The drummer wasn't the calmest person, so to speak, and Jim suspected his current state wouldn't really ameliorate his explosive nature.

‘Have you already informed the... other father? he said, realising it probably _wasn't_ the most careful question after all.

‘I've informed _you_ , and that's enough. And there no _already_ in this,' the blond said in a low voice.

‘Roger, _you have to_ -’

‘He doesn't need this, okay!'

‘ _Roger_ ,’ he said, trying to bring the man back to his senses. Jim still didn’t know what exactly the man expected him to do, but he was being childish and was making things even harder for the manager to understand.

‘Jim, please, this has to be fixed.’

_Fixed_. So  _that's_ what he meant. Jim looked at Roger, trying to read in his face whether he really implied what he just said, but the man tensed up even more, flying off his chair.

‘Look, I can do it myself, you know. But if someone _finds out_ , do you really think the band’s reputation will stand it?!’

‘But you can't make the decision on your own, Roger.’

‘I can do whatever the hell I want,’ he said. ‘This is not up for discussion. I just thought you might know a place where people will… keep their mouths shut, that’s all.’

‘How far along are you?’ Jim asked, trying to change the topic for a while. He needed to think.  It wasn’t that Roger’s words didn’t make sense. No, quite on the contrary, actually. The press wouldn’t let them be, that was quite clear. But could he really listen to someone who most probably wasn't thinking straight right now?

‘I don't know,’ the drummer answered, briefly looking down. ‘I found out today’.

Jim tried to see if there were any physical indicators which could answer his question, but the man crossed his arms, realising what exactly the manager was staring at. Okay.

‘Roger, you can't be too hasty about this.’ Miami sighed. _As much as_ he wanted to help, _as much a_ s it would make things easier for all of them, including the manager himself, he couldn't help but admit it was also _wrong_. The drummer was driven by panic, not reason, and he wasn't sure what would happen in case he changed his mind too late.

‘Oh, _well_ , and what do _you_ suggest? Roger was now pacing back and forth, barely controlling his emotions. ‘You can't pretend t-there's nothing wrong with this, and it’s me we're talking about, I don't wanna go through it!’

‘Calm down, _please_ ,’ asked Jim, but it had virtually no effect on the man.

‘You've seen what they do to with Freddie, haven't you? What do you think they'll do with two more and a _kid_?! he yelled and momentarily went pale. Jim looked at the drummer, who seemed to be surprised at his own words. He looked winded and was mumbling something the manager couldn't hear.

And then realisation slowly dawned on him. Two. Roger said _two_.

‘Wait... what?’

He had somehow got used to the idea that their drummer was expecting a child, and now he was going to learn that _someone else_ in the band might be directly involved in this? Wasn’t he too old for such confessions in a row?

‘ _Roger_?’ he looked at the man, who was still trying to get control of his emotions.

‘F-forget it, I meant myself.’

‘... Brian?’ the manager more stated than actually asked, still processing the newly acquired information in his mind. There were really no other options, and what surprised him most was that… _somehow_ , it made sense. In hindsight, they had always been quite close, he just didn't know to what extent. Up to this day.

‘What? No, don’t be ridiculous,’ Roger nervously chortled, looking him into the eyes. 'You, you don't know him. It was a one-time thing, w-won't happen again.’ He looked like a schoolboy who had done something wrong and now was panicking from being caught by a parent. Saying nothing would probably be a better option if he really wanted to convince anyone right now. Jim had obviously underestimated the scale of the problem, and now it was snowballing too fast for him to come up with a reasonable solution. But he also knew no one was going to do instead of him.

The drummer was about to light a cigarette, clearly not noticing Jim’s disapproving look.

‘Put it away, Roger.’ he said in a calm voice. If the drummer wanted Jim to sort this out, he’d better behave himself properly.

‘What does it change?’

‘You can have plenty of those when it actually won't change anything. _Now,_ if you want me to help you, be kind and listen to what I say.’

The blond man obviously wanted to protest, but still hid the pack in his pocket and sat down.

‘You will go home now,’ Jim continued, making sure the man heeded to his words, ‘and you won't do anything _stupid_ , you hear me? I have some calls to make, but _that_ … won't be too hard. I’ll call you later this evening.’

‘You’ll do it, then?’ Roger looked at him with hints of relief and disbelief in his eyes.

‘It’s your decision, not mine,’ said the manager, looking down at the papers on his desk, which clearly had nothing to do with the topic of their discussion. Roger lingered for a while, then muttered a quiet “thank you” and was about to leave the office, but then turned back to the manager again. ‘You won’t tell anyone, will you? Not even Deaky or Brian.’

Jim nodded and watched the man go. He couldn’t even express how _done_ he was with whatever was happening with the band lately. The musicians seemed to surprise him and each other more and more, and not even in his strangest dream could he imagine such an absurd course of events. They constantly made him worry, and the situation seemed to have reached its peak now.

Not that he could do anything about it, though. Or could he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, I hope you won't be too mad about this. I want to keep this fic a biiit realistic (as much as it's possible for an au, of course), so I just thought this might be Roger's initial reaction, idk.
> 
> There's nothing to worry about, though.


	7. Chapter 7

Roger drove up to an old, grey, unremarkable building he would have passed by any other day, without giving the construction a second glance. This day, however, was different. The drummer parked his car and began looking for a familiar figure, which was nowhere to be seen. The gnawing suspicion, which had been torturing and eating him up all the previous day, started to come back. He couldn’t get rid of the feeling there was going to be some kind of a trick, because lately, _nothing_ seemed to go smooth and easy. When he had just returned home from the manager’s office, the drummer was almost sure the man wouldn’t call as he’d promised. Then a far worse possibility crept into his mind and kept him on edge for a good few hours. _Brian_. Roger couldn’t believe he’d been stupid enough to blurt out the guitarist was very much responsible for… well, knocking him up, but a word spoken out was past recalling, even if he absolutely wasn’t ready to deal with the consequences. It wasn’t that he’d actually _named_ the man, but Roger wasn’t surprised it took the manager seconds to get what was what, and the drummer was pretty sure he’d failed to convince Jim otherwise. The thing he dreaded most was that the guitarist would suddenly show up at his door and would demand answers or explanations Roger couldn’t give.

None of that happened, however. Jim rang him at 7 o’clock sharp, and now here he was, standing in front of a strange hospital, looking for the manager. It didn’t take him long; Roger found the man at the reception, talking to someone, who turned out to be a regular, middle-aged doctor, nothing much to say. Jim politely smiled to his interlocutor, drawing his attention to the drummer, who was still staring at them, hesitant to interfere with the conversation.

‘Morning,’ the manager said in his casual voice, as if the situation was not at all out of the ordinary. ‘Roger, this is Dr Bates. I’ve already told him about your problem, so there’s no need for you to do that.’ Well, frankly, that was great. Roger did understand the other man was a doctor, but even telling Jim the day before had made him want the ground to swallow him, and this bloke was still a total stranger.

The drummer muttered an awkward _good morning_ , but the man dismissed the greeting, and kept looking at him with such a strange, unreadable expression on his face, that Roger felt somewhat uncomfortable. This was hardly a good start.

‘If I understand it correctly, you want to terminate your pregnancy,’ Dr Bates finally spoke, with a clear reproach in his voice. The drummer cautiously nodded. Oh, he’d been right; things weren’t going to go easy and smooth. Although he couldn’t really understand why would a doctor, of all people, act like that. The drummer had never been too fond of them _,_  but even the worst ones he’d met didn’t look like they could berate him at any moment, and judging from the look the man was giving him, he was almost there.

Roger’s fears never materialised, though. The doctor took the men into his room, where he asked the drummer a few general questions about the symptoms he’d been experiencing, as well as the approximate date of the conception, if he any idea about it, of course. He spoke in the same unfriendly tone, occasionally nodding and taking notes, but Roger dared to assume it was just way the man was, and the man's behaviour had nothing to do with him.

‘Very well,’ the doctor said when he was finally through with his questions. What exactly was well, though, he didn’t specify. ‘We need to do an ultrasound,’ he quickly added, getting up from the table, not even looking in Roger's direction.

‘W-wait, what, no. I don't want to,' the drummer protested, frantically looking at Jim, seeking help, but the man only shrugged his shoulders. ‘Can’t we just finish with this, _please_? I’m not keeping it, what’s the difference what you’re gonna see there?

‘Mr Taylor, I'm afraid we do not conduct any medical procedures without having all the possible information about the condition of the parent and the child.’

‘It’s not a child,’ Roger retorted, feeling his throat go dry. ’Not yet,’ he clarified when Jim sceptically raised a brow at his words.

‘Consider it an unnecessary formality then, but the rules are rules.’    

‘Just go,’ nudged him the manager, getting up from his chair, too, and following the man to the other end of the room. 

The drummer still wanted to rebel at that totally idiotic condition they had imposed on him, but he was outnumbered, and Bates didn’t really seem the kind of a person who’d make any concessions. He awkwardly lay down on the couch and lifted his T-shirt, baring the torso. To Roger’s extreme disappointment, the doctor didn’t get down to business right away and began touching his stomach, sliding his hands up and down, sometimes stopping and slightly pressing. Why it was necessary, Roger didn't know. He _might_ be a bit bloated lately, but there definitely wasn’t anything to examine so meticulously yet, and _certainly_ wouldn’t be in the future. That was the bloody reason he’d come, wasn't it?

‘Okay’, the man muttered, finally turning the ultrasound on and applying a weird-looking gel on the drummer’s belly. It turned out to be unpleasant and cold, but no one had bothered to warn him, of course. It wasn't a big deal. Roger fixed his eyes on the ceiling, not looking towards the monitor or at what the man was doing with his midsection. He also wished his heart wouldn't pound like that, but there was a growing feeling of anxiety he could neither understand nor stop.

‘Don’t you wanna have a look’?” Jim asked, but the drummer only shook his head. Why did he have to watch? He only wanted things to be over, to feel well again, to get away from the absurd idea of fatherhood, as well as to get away from the strange creepy doctor, who was doing his best to make him feel as uncomfortable and miserable as possible. Although… it was still his body, and he was supposed to know what was happening to it, wasn’t he? Having a quick glance, he told himself, would be rational and sensible, and before long, Roger’s eyes were staring in the same direction as everyone else’s.

It was the oddest feeling he’d ever had. _Whatever_ it was on the screen, it looked more like a teeny-tiny _ET_ than an actual child. Was it- , was it the case for everyone, or only came as a perk for sleeping with former clever astrophysicists? That would be an amusing outcome, he had to admit, though Brian would probably shake with laughter after hearing such assumptions, that unbearable know-it-all. Roger grinned at his thoughts, but the smile slipped from his face as soon as he caught Jim's glance. No, Brian wasn’t going to hear about any of this. Roger was only trying to distract himself from the gloom of the moment, and the manager couldn’t misinterpret it.

‘Alright, that's it, get up,’ the doctor said,  giving the drummer napkins to wipe the gel off, and returning to his table without uttering a word. Roger looked at Jim, hoping that at least the other man would be kind enough to explain whatever the hell was happening, but he said nothing. In the meanwhile, the doctor was looking at an ultrasound picture, and Roger could only wonder when he had even managed to do that. Had he zoned out?

The drummer sat down, expecting the man to say something, but he was writing something down, not even looking in the blond’s direction.

‘Um, _sorry_ ,’ he said, trying not to sound too frightened, though he really couldn’t get rid of the feeling since morning, and it wasn't changing for the better. ‘Can we already start?’

‘Mr Taylor, I must be honest with you,’ the doctor said, looking into his eyes, and Roger immediately knew he wasn’t going to like it. ‘From your words I had concluded you weren’t too far along, and in that case, everything would be done with the help of a simple pill.’  

‘But _?_ ’

 _‘But,_ ’ the man said, ‘I am afraid you have progressed with your pregnancy a bit _further_ for that to be an option. You’re at nine weeks. Almost ten, actually.’

‘W-which is?’ Roger mumbled, getting a bit confused.

‘Which is the third month, and, like I said, is a bit late for that procedure.’

Roger kept silent _._ There were a lot of things he wished to say and yet couldn’t utter a word. It was too much for his brain to function properly.

‘To be honest I’m a bit surprised’ Bates went on, ‘that you’ve waited so long to conduct the test if the symptoms were there for a while. Anyway, here it is, look.’ The doctor pointed to one of the posters on the wall, on which the same alien creature was depicted, but in more detail and in colour. The already developed body parts and organs were marked and highlighted. _It had fingers?_ Roger didn’t know why that particular part caught his attention, but it somehow seemed important, maybe because _he_ was a drummer and they were quite important for him.

‘I hope you understand that we’ll have to do this, _well_ , surgically.’ Bates said, staring at him with a strange look.

No, he didn’t. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, it wasn’t how _Roger_ had expected it to be. In his mind everything was simpler, quicker, and as painless as possible. For both of them.

‘Let me explain how it’s done,’ the doctor said, ‘so that you won’t have any worries.’

Roger listened. Attentively. He would occasionally look at the manager, whose calm face was beginning to change its expression, and it was a good sign. He was glad the problem wasn’t in him, but in the way Bates talked. With every passing second Roger’s desire to flee the hospital was getting bigger and bigger; the doctor described everything so vividly and minutely that the drummer could feel his heart pound in his ears at some point. He didn’t want to know _how exactly_ things were going to be done, and the last straw was that the man apparently wanted to show him something in photos.

‘That's enough, I get it!’ was everything Roger could say, before jumping off his chair and realising that the darned nausea decided to return at the most inconvenient moment possible. ‘I'm sorry, I think I'm gonna be sick’ he said, and Bates immediately pointed to a door.

After half a minute the drummer was already kneeling over the toilet, saying goodbye to the meagre breakfast he'd had earlier, sweating and shivering with cold at the same time. The doctor’s words were spinning in his head, and the hope that the visit would dispel his fears and he’d be able to move on with his life was now gone. The whole thing was a nightmare, and he couldn’t recall the last time he’d been treated like that. It was cruel. They all knew the aim of the visit, yet the doctor _insisted_ he had to see the child, showed him how it had already grown and what it had developed, and then thoroughly described how they were gonna hurt it and whatnot. And, _of course_ , that would all be due to Roger’s decision, and the man would simply be doing his job. _Bloody amazing._ The blond had to muster all his strength to get off the toilet floor and rinse his mouth with water, before returning to the room. The men were still seated in their places, but Miami was now looking at him with obvious concern on his face, and Roger could have sworn they exchanged strange looks as soon as he entered.

‘You alright?’ asked Jim in a quiet voice, but the drummer didn’t even answer. His throat was still burning, and… what kind of a question was that?  Did he look alright? He didn't know why the manager had been acting like that all morning, but he was too tired to care.

‘I’ll wait for you outside,’ he finally said, putting on his jacket, not really paying attention to anyone. He didn’t say goodbye to Bates and headed to the hospital exit as fast as he could at the moment. The fresh air felt like a blessing, and Roger sat down on the stairs, closing his eyes, trying to calm down a bit. He only opened them when he felt someone gently pat his shoulder, and wasn't sure how much time had passed.

‘This is yours,’ Miami softly said, handing the drummer a small folder with his name on it. Inside there were a few papers Roger didn’t even bother to read, but what caught his attention was the blasted ultrasound picture. _Just… why_? He gave the manager a puzzled look, trying to understand what was the point of this, but as soon as he saw the man’s expression, something just… clicked in his mind. _No_ , Jim still looked a bit worried, but there were absolute relief and content in his face, the manager either couldn’t or just wouldn’t hide, and Roger suddenly knew what the whole mess was about. Not that he wanted to believe it.

‘You did this, right?’ he almost whispered, staring at the man with his eyes wide open. ‘This… this idiotic… _farce_ , it was your idea, wasn’t it?’

At first, Jim seemed to be a bit lost at the drummer’s words but put himself together quite quickly. There was a change in his face, and he looked much more determined and serious than he did minutes ago.

‘It was necessary,’ he simply said. Yeah, that easy. It was now Roger’s turn to get perplexed, because why on Earth was it necessary to put him through hell like that?

‘Roger, I’m sorry,’ the man said, and probably even meant it, but the drummer sill felt like he’d been betrayed. He’d been hoping there would be no trick this time, but it was there. It was always there, and he was naïve to think this would be an exception.

‘I-, I admit, Dr Bates got a bit too carried away with this, it wasn’t intended, but we really needed to know if you understood what you were asking for, and it turns out...’ the manager paused, trying to catch the man’s reaction. He looked calm. A bit worryingly calm.

It turned out _what_? That he didn’t, and they needed to put on a show to demonstrate how _oblivious_ he was to his own feelings? Was Jim really saying something like that right now?

‘And do _you_ understand,’ Roger asked, feeling his voice tremble, but just couldn’t help it, ‘how this will affect the _band_ , _my life_ , or what kind of things this will entail? Do you understand _that_?’

‘In case you have forgotten, I am responsible for whatever is happening to the band,’ Jim answered, and for the first time that day he sounded irritated, ‘I deal with the press. I deal with a bunch of things you _boys_ have no idea about, and yes, I do realise this may have consequences. I tell you it’s still fine.’

The drummer wanted to say something in response but was interrupted halfway. ‘There’s also another thing, _Roger_.  He needs to know, no matter what.’

 _He_. Yeah, there was really no need to ask Jim to specify who the _he_ was.

‘You think I don't know?’ Roger said bitterly, running his hands through his hair. Of course, he did, but things weren't that easy. ‘ I'm quite aware of that, but why do you think that he _needs to know_ is equal to _he wants to know,_ Jim?

‘Well, you don’t know it either, do you?’ Miami answered. ‘And even if he doesn’t, Roger, still, why should _you_ deal with this alone? If I’m not mistaken, such things take two people, and he is as responsible for the outcome as you are. There’s no need to protect Brian, he’s a grown-up. Especially when right now _there is_ someone who needs your care and protection.’

‘Really?’ Roger smirked, ‘Just for the record, for the past three months I’ve mostly been _drinking_ , _smoking_ , and falling-out with everyone I know, so it may be a bit too late for what you say, you see.’ He slowly got up and hid the scan back into the folder. It was all nonsense. 

‘Surprising as it is, your baby’s okay. _Still_. Dr Bates says he still needs to run a few tests next time, and I hope I don’t need to tell you you’re going to quit smoking and drinking?’

‘ _Next time?_ No way in hell I’m returning here,’ the drummer snorted, heading to his car. All he wanted was to get away from the damned place, hide under his blanket and never come out again. It actually sounded like a pretty decent idea.

‘Oh yes, you will,’ said Jim, blocking his way to the door. ‘I’ll drive. Dr Bates is a very good specialist and will also keep this confidential. As long as it’s possible, of course. And give the man some credit, he checked you both despite your endless attempts to hinder it.’

Roger looked at him again but didn’t reply. He didn’t want to talk, and there wasn't really anything left to say right now. The drummer handed the keys to the manager and took the passenger seat, which felt a bit odd. Up to this moment, the only other person who’d ever driven his car was Brian, because Roger sometimes was just too wasted to even start it. But no, he wasn’t going to think about Brian now. Anyone but him. And neither about the problem they had to sort out somehow. One day wouldn’t change anything, especially if there were months ahead. Roger couldn't quite believe he was doing what he was doing, but the hospital was out of his sight now, and the result of the visit was pretty much the opposite of what he'd expected it to be.

The drummer closed his eyes, feeling sleep and fatigue slowly dawn over him. Good. If there was a way to escape reality at least for a while, he wasn’t going to lose that chance. He'd think things over some other time. Roger tried to make himself a bit more comfortable, leaning his head on the window, and soon started to drift off to sleep, peacefully resting his hand on the very place he’d sworn not to touch, too tired to  care about it any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This much for Jim's plan, I hope it makes sense. Writing this chapter took me a while as I've been really busy lately, and it probably would be a bit different and less abrupt had I more time, but I'm okay with this, too. Also, I'm sorry if there any typos or things I haven't noticed while editing, I'm a bit sleep-deprived at the moment:D Hope you enjoyed it <3


	8. Chapter 8

Brian was growing impatient.

He'd been trying to adapt himself to the new life he apparently was to lead, but it didn't please him one bit, to tell the truth. It was all new to him, this isolation. The man found it incredibly hard to concentrate on the working process under such circumstances, and soon abandoned all the attempts to write or compose anything. He would spend his hours either doing irrelevant stuff like reading, walking, or was just lazily strumming the Red Special, lying somewhere on the couch. Well, at least his old girl was still by his side, comforting and entertaining him after all those years. Everything and everyone else was gone now, and Brian couldn't really make up his mind about how he was supposed to deal with this utter… _boredom_. There were times years ago when he would desperately crave some privacy and would cherish the rare moments when they could just rest a bit from the unending tours, parties and recording sessions. Now he had it all, but boy, was it driving him mad. Turned out, one could get quite accustomed to the frenzy, and having so much time on his hands now felt like a bloody withdrawal. He wondered how the rest of the band were coping with going cold turkey like that, but much to his annoyance, no one seemed to be too bothered. Brian knew John was secretly glad he could take some time off; it had long become a luxury they couldn't afford, and the bassist finally had an opportunity to spend more time home with wife and kids. It was his chance to have a normal life again, and who could blame him?

As for Roger, Brian didn't really know how he was doing. It had been weeks since he had last talked to the drummer, apart from the occasional brief phone calls, and the man wouldn't even always answer. They were still to sort out their situation, and Roger was clearly reluctant to make any contact, given the fact he was avoiding Brian at all costs. The guitarist had decided to respect his wish and was determined to give the man as much time as he wanted; maybe they all needed to be on their own for a while. The four of them had been living in each other's pockets for almost fifteen years, and perhaps such estrangement was sad but eventually inevitable. All he could do now was to hope it would be of a temporary nature, as Brian wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to cope with such uncertainty. There was also a certain amount of bitterness he couldn't fight no matter what. He was getting somewhat angry with Roger and couldn’t really help the feeling. It wasn't fair to leave him hanging like that, couldn't the man see it? They'd gone together through hell and high water; surely they could get over this, too. Was there really a point in pushing him away? How come it made things easier for anyone?

Brian knew they had crossed the line with whatever they had been doing with their friendship, if he could still call it that. In light of recent developments, it suddenly stopped seeming a harmless whim and turned out to have quite real consequences for their lives. There wasn't a day the guitarist wouldn't beat himself up for allowing things go that far, for basically starting it altogether. He used to think he knew what he was doing but proved wrong. What Brian didn't quite understand was how running away was going to help; even though there was also the undeniable knowledge of the fact he had pushed the drummer away in the first place. From time to time the man's thoughts drifted back to his conversation with John, but his hopes that it would clarify anything had long vanished.

_Do you love him?_

Why would the bassist even ask that? The mere idea of it seemed absurd and only made him strangely uncomfortable, as what he had with Roger was always purely on the physical level and imposed no responsibilities on either of them. Love wasn’t the right word to describe it. It would be a lie to say he never looked forward to finally staying alone with the blond in the dressing rooms, and the hotel rooms, or even backstage, letting their bodies merge and relax after the performances and the long rides in the touring bus. It was somewhat risky, now that he thought about it, and the fact that John had long known about their little thing made him think they weren't as safe as they had assumed. It still didn't bother him as much as it should've had, though. Yes, he surely loved what they had, but it wasn't worth losing a friend, and the guitarist couldn't get rid of the feeling that might very well happen.

Brian dialled Roger's number again, more as a habit than with an actual intention to talk, but to his surprise, the man picked up. It was strange to hear his voice again, and Brian didn't even know what he was supposed to say at the moment.

It was his chance and might be the _only_ chance for quite a while again. Maybe a pub would be a good idea; he already couldn't remember the last time they just sat somewhere quiet, drinking, chatting about this and that, but nothing too important. It was hardly going to be the case today, had Roger agreed, but at least the tension between them would subside a bit. At least he hoped so. Brian couldn't think of anything ingenious and awkwardly asked if Roger would fancy having a couple of pints of Guinness or maybe something stronger if he wished. The drummer seemed to be hesitant at the offer, and there was something about his voice that didn't sound quite right. Too low, too indifferent for his friend. Brian could feel there was something off with the man but didn't want to be too inquisitive at the moment. He was glad Roger was at least still on the other line and had no intention to piss him off again.

* * *

Well, it must have been his lucky day, as two hours later Brian was sitting in one of the old pubs they used to go to in the very beginning of their careers when everything was fine and easy. Those times were long gone, but even though it was too sentimental of him to think that places held memories, it somehow soothed and calmed him down. He’d been wondering if he had really lucked out, or  Roger would change his mind at the last moment, which could totally happen. Brian's heart fluttered a bit when he noticed the familiar figure enter the room, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the slightly dishevelled blond hair. His first urge was to pull the man into a hug, but Roger looked somewhat detached, and the guitarist had to pull back instead. His smile was returned, however, which could be a good sign that not all hope was lost yet. They could make it up. They had to.

Though frankly, what he was seeing started to please him less and less with each passing second. He wasn't going to make the same mistake and comment on the drummer's drinking habits, but his heart sank when he finally had a good look at the man. Hangover or not, Roger would always make sure he looked nice and smart, and the man in front of him was simply tired and weary.

‘Haven't been here in ages,’ said the drummer, looking around, probably just to avoid eye contact with Brian. It was okay, the guitarist wasn't that naïve to assume everything was smooth between them only because Roger had finally agreed to meet him.

‘Yeah, neither have I. And that’s why I thought might be a good idea to… remember old times maybe?’

‘Ehm, right,’ said the drummer, apparently not too impressed by his reasoning. Probably because they both were well aware it wasn’t why they were there.  

‘Rog,’ Brian sighed, deciding not to beat around the bush for too long. ‘I know you're probably still mad at me, but… _please_ , can this be over already? It’s been quite tough lately, I don’t want it to get any worse.’

‘I’m not,’ the younger man retorted, staring down at his lap. ‘Actually, I shouldn’t have stormed out like that, sorry ‘bout it. Is this what you wanted to talk about?’

‘No, just wanted to see you. I'll have a pint. You?’

‘I'm-’, Roger stuttered, suddenly looking helpless for some reason, ‘I’m driving today, actually. Just water, please.’

‘Um… okay,’ Brian said, eyeing the younger man, wondering if he’d heard him right. As much as he wanted to believe everything was fine, his friend's odd behaviour was making him worry.

‘So what have you been up to?’ asked Roger, probably just to stop the man from peering at him like that.

‘Well… not much. Tried to work on a few things but, _you know_ … Apart from that, I must admit I'm bored to death.’

Roger chuckled at his words, rolling his eyes.

‘Arghh, _liar_ ,  you're never bored.’

‘Turns out you're wrong’, the older man laughed. It was nice to see Roger smile again, and Brian wished he could savour the moment a bit longer. Except he couldn’t. They were both avoiding the topic that had started the whole mess but there were no potions, really.

‘Everything alright, Bri?’ the drummer asked, probably noticing the change of expression on Brian’s face.

‘Yes. I just, umm… Rog, I know we haven't ever actually discussed this... though you tried last time and I freaked out...’ the man cleared his throat, trying to sound calmer than he was, but his voice was still giving him away.’What I’m trying to say is  that I’m sorry I misused our relationship and our… friendship.’

He could see the drummer's eyes dilate as he spoke. Roger seemed to be at a loss, and Brian's attempt to keep friendship unmarred was apparently having a reverse effect. He couldn't really tell what was wrong with the man lately, but he started to think their dispute with their lead singer wasn't the only cause he was feeling down.

‘So… let me get this clear. You’re sorry it all has even happened?’ Roger gulped, his voice unusually shaky. ‘You're sorry we _shagged’_?

The guitarist blushed and looked around to see if there were any people around them. They really could have chosen another place to address the topic, Brian thought, but there were no options now. The drummer only gave a nervous laugh, seeing him get so jumpy at the word but added nothing else.

‘I didn't say that, Rog,’ Brian almost whined. ‘What I’m trying to say is that I really don’t want to lose one more friend, and it’s _exactly_ what’s gonna happen if we go on.’

Roger looked totally beaten and was about to say something but then obviously changed his mind. If he was trying to pull himself together that didn't really work at the moment.  

‘Look, I-I need to go,’ he spoke in a husky voice, getting up off his chair in a tick. ‘Got your point, no worries, Bri.’

‘But you just came.’

‘Yeah, well, maybe next time.’

‘Roger, this is the exact opposite of what I'm trying to do, don't leave again.’ Brian begged, suddenly feeling a wave of panic wash over him.

‘Well, what do you want me to do then? It's nice to see you're back to your prudent self again, Brian,’ the man snapped, ‘Just too bad you've been neglecting it for two bloody years.’

‘How do you mean? asked the guitarist. ‘Roger, I told you I’m sorry but it’s not that I was alone in this.’

‘That's not what I'm saying.’

‘Then what is it you're saying? Because, honestly Roger, sometimes I doubt you even make sense to yourself.’ Here, he did it. He screwed things up again before he was able to shut his own mouth. For a moment he expected the drummer to explode right there and tell Brian his very honest opinions on the guitarist, but he apparently was wrong.

‘Oh, sod off.’

Roger simply headed to the door, not even bothering to look at him. ‘I knew this was an idiotic idea.’

‘Roger, where the hell are you going?’ Brian quickly followed him, leaving a tenner for the pint of beer he never had. He couldn't let things go the way they did last time.

‘That’s none of your business, actually. I've got a life.’

The blond probably thought he’d got rid of the unwanted company, and slowed down his pace a bit, which was enough for Brian to wrap his hand around the man's wrist and stop him.

‘Let go,’ the drummer whined, though not really trying to free himself from the older man's grip. Brian only shook his head and pulled him closer, gently stroking the blond’s hair and drawing invisible circles on his back.

‘What is it, Rog?’ he quietly asked, trying to keep the man calm. ‘You know you can tell me, don't you? I mean, I know it’s all crazy right now but something else is bothering you.’

The other man only buried his face in Brian's neck, probably too upset to care they were in public and might be recognised.

‘We were silly and something's happened. That's what it is. I thought I could handle this, but…’ his voice faltered, and he finally pulled away from the guitarist, trying to get a grip on himself.

‘I don't quite understand what so terrible could have happened, Roger.’ Brian said softly,  puzzled by the drummer’s words. ‘Or if it has, surely we can fix it.’

‘I'm not sure I want to fix it.’

The guitarist stared into the man's face, trying to guess what he was implying to but it was all blank and pale, and then...it hit him.

‘You don't want us to be the way we used to, do you?’ he said, realisation slowly dawning on him as he looked at the younger man. For some reason, he always thought Roger would be the one to move on as if nothing had happened, mainly because it was the younger man's attitude towards most of his affairs. He probably had to stop being so sure about his opinions.

‘I just don't think we can.’

Brian suddenly felt something be put into his hand, and realised he was now holding a small envelope. He raised his brow, but Roger only stared at his shoes, not daring to look at him.

‘This is the worst place possible but it's now or never.’

Brian didn't really know what to expect. Roger's behaviour was beyond normal even for his standards, and the guitarist was starting to feel his panic come back. What possible explanation for his friend's odd behaviour could fit in an envelope? His mind started drifting to all types of different conclusions which weren't particularly good.

Brian extracted a black and white picture of something he couldn't identify at first sight, probably because it was what he was expecting the least, but a few moments later he realised what he was looking at.

‘Rog, that's… amazing.’ he finally said, though not entirely sure how he was feeling about this new information. ‘Who is she?’

‘She?’ the drummer asked, his voice lower than ever. He sounded broken.

‘Yeah, well, your girlfriend? Or… oh, it’s not a groupie, is it,  Rog?’

Roger slightly shook his head, an unreadable expression etched on his face. Brian tensed up a bit, feeling he wasn't getting the point of all of this. Something didn't quite make sense but he couldn't put his finger on it. What had  _he_ done after all? A strange sensation in his stomach made him hold his breath, and then there was this nagging thought he somehow knew what exactly was going on.

‘Brian, I don't have a girlfriend,’ the drummer said, looking him into the eyes for the first time that day, and the older man realised he didn’t really that clarification.

_We were silly and something's happened._

_I’m driving, just water, please._

‘Oh,’ the guitarist muttered, feeling his throat go dry all of a sudden, an unfamiliar cold running down his spine.

  _Oh no._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, well...guess who's back:)  
> Guys, I'm really sorry it took me ages to update this fic, I hope you're still there:D  
> Frankly, I don't know how often I'll be able to do it, as I'm really busy (and stressed ) these days but certainly wanna go on with this story.  
> It's nice to be back, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. <3


	9. Chapter 9

‘And when exactly were you going to tell me?’ Brian asked, his voice harsher than he intended it to sound. He didn't mean at all to be spiteful towards the younger man, but right now his thoughts were in a complete mess, and he found it extremely hard to maintain his composure, and frankly, his sanity as well.

‘Oh, right. You weren't,’ the guitarist nervously chuckled, running his hands through his long tangled hair. Roger didn't really bother to look at him, being sat in an armchair across the room, and Brian could feel that the distance between them was much bigger than it seemed. It was bigger than ever.

They had somehow made it to the drummer's house, the whole ride being awkward thirty minutes of silence and sideways glances, and only then he was finally put in the picture of what was going on. As Roger spoke, Brian's faint hopes that there had been a huge misunderstanding rapidly ebbed away and were replaced by something he couldn't identify just yet. He wasn't sure how a person could experience such a wide range of emotions at the same time, but it was quite clear to him his mind wouldn't take it much longer.

This was it, the aftermath he'd been anticipating and fearing the whole time, unless its magnitude was much bigger than anything he had ever expected.

‘Look, I think you've already told me how you feel about all of this,’ Roger said wearily, finally granting him a glance, ‘and I _beg_ you not to change your mind now. It's totally fine, and I'm also fine.’

‘But I didn't know!’ the older man squeaked, feeling a new wave of panic rise in him again. It all seemed to be a very strange, scary dream, except he apparently wasn't going to wake up from it. His head was pounding, and he was surprised he could still think straight. ‘I didn't know, and you let me go on as if nothing had happened.’

‘Yes, because that's my fucking point, _Brian_ ,’ Roger snarled, curling up in his seat. ‘I don’t want you to patronise me or… behave like a gentleman, or whatever the fuck you think you need to be. Spare me from it, please. ’

‘Don't say that,’ the guitarist winced at his words, trying to pull himself together at least a bit. ‘I'm not patronising you, I’m simply asking why you’d decided it wasn’t _that important_ for me to know. God, you’ve even told Jim!’

‘Yeah, as if you’d be any help.’

‘Excuse me?’

Roger gave him the death stare, hands rummaging in his pockets. He was apparently looking for his Marlboro pack like he always did when nervous, but that must have been instinctive. The pockets were empty, and that only made the drummer even more frustrated.

‘Argh, I panicked, okay?’ now it was Roger’s turn to freak out, and Brian tensed up, not really sure what to expect from the man at this point. His notorious short temper might have undergone some logical modifications, and Brian wasn't too eager to find out.

‘W-what was I supposed to do?  We’re bandmates, we're famous, and you’re my best friend! No one even knows there was anything like… _that_.’

‘Deaky knows,’ the guitarist muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was getting a headache and a hitherto unknown urge to be the first to flee the scene this time. Not that he could, but that would still be marvellous.

‘ _What_?’ Roger asked, colour draining from his face. He probably knew John wouldn’t really criticise them or treat them any differently, being aware of this little detail, but Brian could still remember the worry in his own heart when he talked to the bassist himself. ‘Why on earth have you told him?’

‘He didn’t exactly need to be told. He’d seen us,’ he said, only to see the blond’s eyes double in size. ‘N-no, nothing in particular …and he’s okay with it, don’t worry.’

And then they fell silent again until it was too unbearable to listen to the ticking of the clock and their own breathing. Brian realised he still had the scan with the little creature which was supposed to be their baby.

His eyes wandered to the drummer, inspecting his frame for any noticeable changes, but the loose, oversized hoodie wouldn't really show if anything was different now. Roger caught his glance but didn’t react in any way.

‘I just wish you told me, Rog,’ Brian almost whispered, feeling the shock subside a bit. ‘Not like this, not after me pestering you all this time.’

‘Nah, you don't,’ the drummer retorted, biting his lip so vigorously Brian thought it might bleed. He gave the man a puzzled look but Roger didn't really pay attention.

‘Please, just… don't pretend this is something you’ve ever wanted to hear. At least not from me.’

Well, Brian wouldn't actually admit it, but it was true and made sense. He never meant anything to get this far, and because of his imprudence, his friend was now going to get hurt. Not to mention the little life they had accidentally created.

‘I mean, in my defence, I also didn’t think I’d ever be the one to tell this.’ Roger gave him a slight apologetic smile, but the guitarist was simply unable to return it. It was too much. It was all too much.

‘And you want my consent to finish what you wanted to do? Why ask now?’

 ‘I’m sorry but I don’t think you’d get a say in that case.’

‘ _Then what_?’ Brian snapped, feeling his patience wear thin. It probably wasn't the best idea to lose his temper now, especially when the blond was in a far less enviable position, but he just couldn't help it.

Roger, however, didn't even seem to flinch at his tone, now looking at everything but not

‘I wanted to ask if that would bother you if I keep it.’

...

Brian froze, his mind trying to process what he had just heard, and wondering whether he'd heard it correctly.

‘You just told me you were going to-’

‘I know what I said, just _shut up_ for a moment.’ Roger took a deep breath, either trying to collect his thoughts or trying to calm down before he’d speak. He didn't seem particularly anxious at the moment, but having known the man for so long, Brian could tell it was just calm before the storm. He’d have to be more cautious with his words if he wanted this to end well.

‘Look,’ the drummer finally turned to him again, eyes fixed on the older man, ‘the band was all I cared for for the past fourteen years. It's the only thing I've ever… contributed to, the only thing I tried to be responsible for, and I thought it was gonna… _be there_ , you know. And guess what, _it’s not_. It fucking fell to pieces in a snap. I mean, come on, you were there, too. I... I need something for myself, Brian. Because apparently, it's not gonna be Queen. Or you,' he added much quieter, probably more to himself rather than Brian.

‘What, like… you don't want me around anymore?’ the guitarist asked, feeling a nasty sting inside his chest. Was it really going to have the worst possible scenario?

‘No, you tosser,’ Roger huffed, ‘I just want it to be the way you wanted and like we used to be. _Friends_. That's the right thing, I get it, too. I mean, it was fun and all, but… we really suck at being anything else but friends. I don't think I can do anything to this baby, but it doesn't have to change your life, too.’

‘How is that possible now, Roger?’ The truth was, Brian felt rather lost at the man's words. It was indeed he who had suggested they were through, mainly because he was afraid they would end up ruining their friendship. It was he who had promised Roger it wasn’t going to change anything between them, but… wasn't it too late now? Didn't they both know how unlikely such an outcome was? Wasn't he trying to fool himself, thinking all they had was a consensual way to let steam off?

He wanted to stay friends but that wasn't how he was ever supposed to look at his friend, to begin with. It wasn't how it was supposed to feel. Brian was ready to give himself a mental slap for suddenly having an urge to back off from what they had been discussing and mostly form his own idea, but maybe staying friends wasn't what he yearned for. Maybe he wanted more.

‘I don't know how we’re gonna do this,’ Roger sighed, ‘but you should promise me we’ll try. And you should promise me you won't look at me differently, I'm still your pal, after all.’

Brian nodded, though wasn’t sure what he was actually agreeing with. His mind was telling him to stop it before it was too late, but his actions were drastically different from what he was thinking.

‘Sure,’ he gulped, feeling the room suddenly get too hot and stuffy for him to function properly. Or maybe it was just him, he didn’t know. ‘Sure, Rog. Promise.’

‘Good. Would you like some beer as a peace offering? I’m sure there are still a few bottles left in the fridge, and, mate, that’s not what they were made for.’

‘I’d love to, really.’ Oh yeah, that part was true. He desperately needed a drink, the stronger the better. But he’d get one once this was over.

‘I’d love to, but… I think I have to go. It’s been a hell of a day, and there is just so much to digest. And you’d better rest, so… maybe next time.’ Brian could feel Roger tense up again, his puppy eyes staring at him with a mixture of sadness and disappointment but the blond only nodded in response.

‘Okay. I’ll walk you to the door then.’

Brian briefly hugged him goodbye, promising to call soon. He didn’t know for how long he’d been holding his breath but was only able to properly exhale when he was finally alone in the street. It had already got dark, and the cold air helped him cool down a bit.

Brian wasn’t particularly proud of himself for running away, but that’s not what was eating him from inside. It was his promise, or rather the one he had already broken. He’d promised Roger he wouldn’t treat him differently but that was the exact thing he just did, and the worst part was that he was probably going do it again. Well, it served him right. He'd been let go because he had asked for it, and now had to deal with the consequences, even if they didn't please him one bit. It was something Brian was yet to get used to.

Oh, he also wasn’t particularly proud of unwittingly stealing the scan but that he didn't particularly mind either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *one eternity later*
> 
> Hi guys! How are you doing? Here's the new chapter, hope you liked it. Really took me a while to write it because Uni won't just let me be, but I'm glad I can finally update this.  
> p.s. sorry if there were any typos, they may happen these days:D


	10. Chapter 10

‘Crikey, mate, what is that?’  
  
The first thing John saw, as he entered the studio, was a pair of curious eyes staring at him with unhidden amusement. He didn't immediately catch on what the other person was talking about but then he traced at what their _finger_ was pointing. Oh yes, of course. How sweet.  
  
‘Very funny, Roger,’ he said, rolling his eyes, which had no effect on the drummer whatsoever. In fact, he only found it more amusing now.  
  
‘No, I'm serious, why is that thing on your head? What is it even-, oh, Briiii, you gotta see this.’

John could see their guitarist turn his back to check what Roger was babbling about and didn't miss the slight grin on Brian's face when he realised what was going on. Thankfully, the man refrained from any comments, which obviously wasn't going to be Roger's case.  
  
‘Oh dear,’ the blond said, wiping the wet tracks on his cheeks, ‘I had forgotten we weren't the only ones having a crisis here.’  
  
‘I'm not having a crisis,’ the bass player retorted, touching his head as some sort of a confirmation of his words. Not that there was anything to fix there… but still. ‘Ronnie likes it, and it looks quite… fresh, I must say.’

‘And red,’ Brian muttered under his breath, making sure it was audible for each and every person in the room.  
  
‘I'm sure she does,’ Roger winked at him with a Cheshire grin, and John felt his slight irritation go away, as he looked at the drummer's silly giggly face.

A little banter would do no harm. In fact, they kind of needed it now. It didn't really matter if the drummer's high spirits were a bit forced, or that he himself couldn't really tell if he was indeed having a crisis or not. It felt nice to spend some time home, away from the madding craze of their lives,  but it had long become a part of him and was at least a bit unusual to be, _well_ , unemployed.  

He had already worked on a few songs but wasn't sure how they were actually going to sound on the record. He never sang himself, even though before Freddie used to encourage him to do as much as he could. It was nice, especially in the very beginning, when he would feel a bit isolated from the rest. In a way, Freddie had become a wall he could lean on and now that wall was gone.

Of course, he appreciated all of his bandmates, but Brian and Roger had always been too preoccupied with each other, even when one was contemplating the other's murder.

They had another wall of their own, and it was interesting how both of those walls seemed to have collapsed at the same time. Freddie was no longer around to make him believe in his music, and those two were behaving like total idiots.

John wouldn't deny that their situation was beyond usual, and was slightly dumbfounded when Brian shared the _happy news_ … which was anything but happy at the moment.

Moreover, there was some sort of a silent agreement according to which they didn't even touch upon the topic unless it was absolutely urgent. That is to say, _never_.

John didn't quite understand which direction this was going, but the whole _wrongness_ of the situation was undeniable. Unfortunately, it was undeniable only to him.

Roger and Brian went on pretending nothing at all had happened, and even the glances they would give each other when the other one wasn't looking weren't enough for them to get their shit together.

John didn't really know how long he would be able to keep calm for the sake of all of them, but something told him… it wouldn't be long.

He wasn't used to expressing his feelings the way the rest of the group did, and his bandmates apparently thought he was void of them altogether. He was believed to be taking things easier, and most of the time that didn't bother John at all.

He didn't mind if he had to guide his friends out of trouble from time to time, but here they were, all in the same hopeless pit, and he didn't know how he could help them if he was stuck himself as well.

No one knew for how long they would be left hanging like that, and maybe, _maybe_ it was time for them to accept the possibility that they had to go on.

He wasn't going to think about it now when they had finally gathered together for the first time in almost two months, but some things might be unavoidable after all. And still, he would think about this _later_.

John picked up his bass, trying to join in with the melody Brian was now strumming on his guitar. Well, not exactly _strumming_. And not exactly a _melody_. Whatever it was, it sounded rather angry, even though such riffs weren't really unusual for Brian anymore.* His songs tended to get heavier from album to album, and John even considered them to be some sort of an attempt to get back at him for Hot Space. _Whatever floats your boat,_ he thought, unable to suppress a smirk.

There was a chance, though, this time might actually be influenced by what was going on in his life in general. Like, who could blame him?

Roger seemed to have liked the riff and sat down at the drums to add the beat. The whole thing sounded... _okay_ , but John wasn’t sure how it was going to make a complete song. And if it was going to make a song at all.

‘What is it called?’ he asked, wondering if there was more to the music, but Brian only shrugged his shoulders.

‘Umm, nothing. Have been thinking of this part for a while, but… there are no lyrics yet.’

‘It has potential,’ Roger put in, twirling one of the drumsticks his hand. ’Just needs a little bit of polishing. I’ll work on the beat later if you want.’

‘Well, something’s better than nothing,’ John mumbled, looking away not to meet Brian’s gaze. The guitarist seemed to overlook the remark anyway, simply nodding to the blond.

‘Thanks, Rog. Yeah, I think you should.’

They went on jamming, though soon turned back to their old songs. John didn't really feel like sharing what he had been working on just yet, and apparently neither did Roger. He said he _did_ have some ideas but refused to actually say what ideas exactly.

It seemed that whatever songs they had tried to write, all of them were too personal to discuss at the moment. Brian played another untitled melody on Freddie's piano, a much calmer one this time, but didn't really say what it was supposed to be.

The jam session was officially over when Roger excused himself, saying he had a few plans for the day that he couldn't delay. Brian nodded, giving the man a slight pat on the shoulder and went to pack his guitar. Back in the days, he would just leave it in the studio, but now they didn't really know when they would be back again, and apparently, Brian wasn't going to abandon his precious Red Special for God knows how long.

Roger didn't say where he was going, which would be perfectly normal were his situation different, but now it made John a bit uneasy. He hadn't got a chance to properly talk to the man and didn't want the drummer bottle up because of what was happening to him. Overall, he was calm, but that was the problem. Roger was never calm, and this was rather alarming.

 

* * *

  
Roger slowed down his pace as he stepped into the busy street. The weather was nice for late October, and he wished he could actually walk to the place he was heading. Too bad the place itself was in the bloody middle of nowhere.

His car was parked just outside the studio, so very soon the blond was sitting in the leather saloon of his beloved Aston Martin. He didn't immediately start the car, reflecting on his first day back in the studio, which wasn't a complete failure, after all.

They were all a bit tense but what else could he expect? A lot had changed, and they were either going to adjust themselves to the new state of things or would have to throw away what they had been trying to build for so long.

He preferred the first option, even though the changes in the band weren't the only thing that was different in his life now.

There was a million of things he had to get used to, a bunch of things he had to do differently, and from time to time it was making him quite upset and irritated, to say the least.

Even though he didn't have a real withdrawal, having seized smoking when it only made him feel worse, it was still hard to cope with stressful situations without his usual way to relax. And given the fact of what was happening in his life at the moment, he could easily define it as one big stressful situation.  

He might be losing his band, had already lost a lover, and had a baby on the way, which still blew his mind despite the fact it was becoming rather evident.

It felt like a blessing when they had finally decided to meet in the studio to discuss a few songs. This hadn't happened since Freddie left for Munich, and Roger was glad there was something familiar to look forward to.

John was now fully aware of what was going on in the lives of his two friends, mainly because it wouldn't make sense if they kept him in the dark. It wasn't something Roger could hide for too long, and Deaky might not like it if he had to guess himself. And he turned out to be pretty good at guessing.

As for Brian and him, they were both trying their best. Roger wouldn't call their interactions too genuine — very little time had passed, and his current state didn't help much to pretend they were still the good old friends they used to be.

It wasn't real, they both knew it, but that might be a good start. Things take time, and he wasn't that naive to think they would be back to being best mates after occasionally sleeping with each other for a couple of years, not to mention the fact they were _lucky_ enough to conceive a child along the way.

Part of him was still somewhat angry at Brian for pushing him away but at the same time, Roger couldn't really blame him. No feelings were involved, at least for one of them, and the drummer wasn't going to ask for something that had never been there in the first place. This was something he'd got used to a long time ago, and this was something he could handle.  
  
It was nice he could still see that endless mop of hair hunched over the guitar, thinking of a song, humming something under his nose. Roger just hoped that one day they would again be able to look each other in the eyes, without the urge to run away and hide.  
  
The meeting went fine, even though its productivity left much to be desired. The ideas for the new songs were raw and unfinished, and most of the time they spent playing their old stuff. It felt good, yet something was missing, and they were all well aware nothing could ever substitute for it. Too bad the one who caused it hardly felt the same.

Roger looked at his notebook, which was lying on the passenger seat next to him. He'd brought it to show the lyrics he'd been working on for the past few days but had changed his mind shortly before arriving at the place.

He wasn't sure if it was a suitable song for the band and wasn't sure whether he wanted it on the record at all. Some things were too obvious to ever make it work, and that's not how he wanted things to be. Brian might not be the most perceptive person he knew, but he definitely wasn't an idiot.

_In this world of cool deception_

_Just your smile can smooth my ride,_

_These troubled days of cruel rejection_ _  
_

_You come to me, soothe my troubled mind.*_

It was good that the days when he desperately wanted all of his songs on the album were over. He'd think of something else when the time was right.

He started the car and soon left the studio, John and Brian far behind. There was probably one thing which he didn't like about the day and it was that he didn't feel too comfortable.

It wasn't really about the changes that were happening to his body, but the way he was treated now. There wasn't anything explicit in his bandmates' behaviour but he could feel them watch him, he could catch their glances, and ignoring them was getting harder and harder.

He had already developed a tendency to wear looser clothes which wouldn't highlight the fact he was expecting and couldn't be more grateful that the fashion for skin-tight clothing had stayed in the previous decade. Matters were only going to get worse once he wouldn't be able to cover his bump, and the fact he could delay it was quite a relief. He wasn't ready yet. He wasn't ready for the attention and wasn't ready to face the fact it was real.

A part of him was saying he was crazy, doing what he was doing. It was going to destroy the image he'd been building for years, it might change his relationship with Brian for good, and it was so fucking scary in general.

He had never considered himself a father material, which was one of the main reasons Dominique just packed her stuff one day and left. Had he been a little less stubborn, he'd still have some sort of a working relationship and wouldn't end up with a kid himself. What an irony.

He had to admit, though, it wasn't a completely negative experience. Initially, Roger wasn't sure what on earth made him change his mind and keep it, but maybe Miami had had a point after all. He just couldn't do it.

There was something about the baby that made him keep calm and go with the flow as much as possible, and just the idea of it brightened him up whenever he was starting to give up to the gloom. He wished he still had the scan, but Brian had nicked it the day Roger told him, and he wasn't brave enough to bring up that topic with the guitarist again.

He didn't know what Brian's attitude towards the whole thing was, apart from that he kinda...  didn't mind. Subconsciously Roger knew the older man still didn't fully realise what was happening, and frankly, neither did he. It felt surreal in so many ways he sometimes thought he had dreamt it. Unless he hadn't.

Roger gulped at the thought of his destination but resisted the urge to pull over. He'd already got a few very persistent calls, stating it was _high time_ he paid a visit to the clinic again, but boy, was he reluctant.

His previous experience at the place made him never want to go back again, and he definitely didn't want to face the man who made him go through hell just to prove he was wrong about his decision. Dr Bates seemed to be everything Roger hated in people, to be more correct - a cold self-righteous prig, and he wasn't sure he could be patient enough to deal with the man alone and without making a scene or telling him his _very_ honest options on his methods and personality.

He wished he wasn't actually alone but he couldn't ask Jim to go with him whenever he needed a check-up, and there wasn't anyone else to ask. As much as Roger would want Brian to be there, not even as the baby's father but as his friend, who'd always make him calm down and feel safe, this was something he could never ask. Brian had never signed up for any of this, and it was time he learnt to cope with things himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The angry riff was from Gimme the Prize. John wasn't too fond of that song.  
> * Heaven for Everyone was written circa 1986 but fiction has power, doesn't it?
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter:)


	11. Chapter 11

Roger entered the unappealing grey building he was so relieved to leave last time.  
He didn't have one single positive emotion associated with the place and really hoped that whatever the creepy doctor was going to do with him, it would be quick. He found Dr Bates in his office reading some medical papers and had to knock on the open door to draw the man's attention.

‘Hello, Roger,’ Bates said nonchalantly, looking up and pointing at the chair in front of him. ‘Do sit down, please.’

Roger took the man's offer, gazing at him suspiciously, not bothering to return the greeting. This, in its turn, didn't seem to bother the doctor, who was all smiles as the drummer sat down.

‘How have you been lately?’ Bates asked most politely, staring at him with a genuine interest in his eyes. ‘I wish you came a bit earlier this month but that's nothing too drastic, I suppose.’

‘Fine,’ Roger said dryly, remembering too well how he was treated last time in this very room. ‘I've been fine.’

‘That's good. The morning sickness has already subdued, I reckon?’

Roger nodded.

Well, it was one of the best things that had happened to him for quite a while, actually. He was at least able to properly eat again, without saying goodbye to his meal a few moments later. Along with the baby's scan, he'd got a prescription for some vitamins and they seemed to work so far. But he definitely wasn't going to thank the man for the prescription, like hell no.

  
‘That's all very well, but how are you… in general? You seemed a bit upset last time, and I didn't get the chance to finish the examination.’

‘Oh, did I?’ Roger snapped, wondering if the man was taking him for a fool. ‘I wonder why.’ The doctor was about to say something, but the blond wasn't having it. ‘No-no, hang on. What is this even supposed to mean? Why play it nice now?’

It was now most frustrating that the other man had suddenly changed his behaviour, as Roger desperately needed to take it out on someone already, and up to this moment, he believed this was a _brilliant_ opportunity. Brian and John weren't there to worry about their reaction, and he had all the right in the world to complain and to grumble after everything the blasted doctor had put him through. It was his bloody motivation to come back at all.

‘Look, Jim told me you might not be… well, thinking straight. And trust me, you don't want to make such decisions if you're not. I've seen what happens when you don't think it over. I'm sorry,’ he added when he got zero reaction from the blond.

‘You bloody should be.’  
  
‘I've lost the sonogram,’ Roger mumbled after a while, not going into detail about what happened to it for real. ‘Could I...’

‘Get another? You can, if you let me finish a few tests.’ Bates said, crossing his hands, giving him a serious look. Perfect, now he was being treated like a baby. The man was apparently prone to going from one extreme to another, but at least this time it wasn't that unusual for Roger. Sometimes people just did that - treated him like a child, and as much as he hated it, it wasn't something new. And apparently Bates wasn't a cold self-righteous prig after all, but a regular bloke with some nice acting skills and very dubious ways of convincing people to do or not to do things. He could already see how his revenge plan wasn't going to be fulfilled, and frankly, he didn't even have the energy to do it.

‘Okay, just… do whatever you should.’  
  
Roger had never been too fond of hospitals, and it wasn't a great surprise to him that he didn't like the tests as well. He didn't feel too comfortable during the most of them and he hated needles with every fibre of his being. It sounded funny that he once thought he could be a dentist, even though he couldn't take the sight of such things one bit.

When they were finally done, Bates told him to go to the ultrasound machine, and soon joined him as well.  
  
‘Okay,  lie down and lift up the shirt. You know how it goes.’  
  
Roger did as he was told, baring his midsection, which had evidently changed since last time. The flatness was gone, and even if it still looked like he had had a rather large meal or had developed beer belly, soon he wouldn't be able to trick anyone into thinking any of those things.

‘Isn't it too soon for me to start showing?’ he asked, hoping the answer would be yes. Hoping he'd have a bit more time to think what to do next.  
  
‘No, it's high time,’ the doctor mumbled, his eyes glued on the screen. Roger followed his gaze, noticing the small E.T. again, which now, however, resembled a baby's shape much more. It had a big head, and tiny arms, and looked all funny but cute.

‘It's perfectly fine,’ said Bates, turning his gaze back to Roger. ‘Do you wanna know, by the way?’  
  
‘Know what?’  
  
‘The sex, what else,’ the man smirked as if it was supposed to be obvious. Or was it?  
  
‘Umm… yes. No. Yes,’ Roger babbled, feeling his heartbeat get faster for some reason. ‘I don't know,’ he sighed, unable to understand why he had to feel this way.

The doctor stared at him for a while and switched the ultrasound off.

‘Shall I write it on a piece of paper? You can open it when you're ready,’ he asked cautiously not to get the blond even more distressed.

‘Yes, please,’ Roger sighed, cleaning the gel off his abdomen. He felt like the biggest idiot ever, panicking about something as minor. He'd already come to terms with the fact he was having a child, surely their gender wasn't going to change how he felt about them. The problem was, it was easier for him to cope with the situation when it was more abstract, and it was getting more real with each passing day. What if he wasn't ready after all?  
  
Roger got off the examination table and went back to Bates' desk, where the man gave him the sonogram and a folded piece of paper.

‘Call me if something feels wrong. Call me even if you only think something can be wrong,’ the man said before finally allowing him to go. Roger nodded, realising he had to bury the hatchet already. He could be really mean when others were being mean to him, but not when they were being nice. And he kind of needed it right now.

‘Thanks,’ he said, heading back to the door, thinking he wouldn't mind coming back there so much anymore.

 

* * *

 

‘What the f-’

  
Roger looked at his front door, trying to understand what the hell was actually happening. He could swear he'd closed the door, leaving in the morning, and the thing was, it was now clearly, undeniably _unlocked_ . A nasty thought crossed his mind that the baby was now affecting his concentration, but there might as well be a bigger problem. Someone might have broken into his house, and this was the worst possible time for him to deal with a fucking burglar. Unless they had already left, and he'd had to call the police, file a report and say goodbye to some of his belongings. He liked neither of the options, but still hoped the house would be empty.

Roger cautiously entered the hall and headed to the living room, realising there was indeed someone else in his house.  
But… burglars didn't usually watch the telly, did they? As soon as he entered the room, his stare fell on a slim silhouette, which was carelessly switching the channels, not paying the slightest attention to the place's legitimate owner. It was already pretty dark outside, and he was about to switch on the lights when something clicked in his mind. He _knew_ that silhouette.  
  
‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ he snapped, making the other person finally turn to him.  Roger switched the lights on anyway and inquiringly stared at the "burglar's" face, who happened to be no one else but John Richard Deacon in the flesh, sitting in his armchair like the bloody Godfather.  
  
‘Oh, you're back,’ the man sighed, switching the TV off. ‘Good. This thing is an utter bore these days, I nearly dozed off,’ he added matter-of-factly, straightening his back as if he'd really been sleeping.  
  
‘How, what- How did you get in here?’ Roger squeaked, feeling he'd never been more confused in his entire life.  
  
‘How do I get you home every time I have to drive you back, Roger? You gave me a key duplicate years ago.’  
  
‘Oh right,’ the drummer mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. So the baby _was_ affecting his memory after all. John or Brian would sometimes drive him home when his level of intoxication was _just a bit_ higher for him to function properly, and it was easier for them to have their own keys rather than to look for it in the pockets of the not-so-sober drummer, manhandling him in the process. And still, this whole thing was rather odd, to say the least.

‘I just... didn't think you keep it by yourself all the time.'  
  
‘Added to the bunch,’ the bassist said disapprovingly, ‘It was often in use, you see.’  
  
‘And still,’  Roger retorted, glancing at the man, who looked as if nothing unusual had happened, ‘you know I'm always glad to see you, _Deaky_ , but what are you doing here?’  
  
‘We need to talk.’  
  
‘We met today?’  
  
‘No, I mean without Brian hanging around. One at a time, please.’  
  
‘This is what, an intervention?’ Roger frowned, starting to get the point of the man's sudden appearance in his house. ‘Because I must disappoint you if it is. I'm perfectly fine, and if you think Brian's not then maybe you'll find his key in your bunch as well.’  
  
The bassist only gave him a funny look, as if asking "you think so" but Roger dismissed it, feeling a new wave of frustration rise in him. And it was either etched on his face, or John seemed to have read his mind because the man just sympathetically nodded at his reaction.  
  
‘Veronica also gets quite edgy when she's pregnant, it's okay, just don't get carried awa-.’  
  
‘I'm not your wife!’ he yelled, getting away from the bassist, aimlessly pacing around the room. He wasn't edgy. At least up to this very moment.

‘Look, what do you want to say? What do you want _me_ to say? What's the point of this? Things happen, and you have to go on. And I’m… trying to, you know. What can we even discuss here?’ Roger wished he could be less emotional, but it was true that he was more wound up these days than usual, as much as he hated admitting it.  
  
‘I really don't know anything. You're acting like nothing has happened, I mean, both of you. How long do you think this can last? What are you going to do when the baby's born? You realise the future's gonna come anyway?’

He did. But he could think about the future in the actual future, couldn't he? All Roger wanted now was to have a small break from all the bloody drama and pretend everything was fine again. He deserved a day off. A lot of them, in fact.  
  
‘Why are you doing this? Everything was fine, why couldn't it stay like that for just a little bit? Am I asking too much?’ Roger whined, wishing he could have a cigarette or just a puff. One fucking _puff_ .  
  
‘Because you two need to talk, and apparently are _not_ going to,’ responded John, making it sound like the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
‘We have, and this is how it ended, Deaky.’  
  
Roger could feel his anger give way to tiredness, and he didn't really have the energy to continue the dispute. Neither did he want to.  
  
‘Look, this was an accident,’ he said much more calmly, taking a deep breath. ‘He told me how he felt about us before he even knew about the…well, about the babe. M-my point is that I _get it_ . He's my best mate, and we probably should have never done what we did. It was totally wrong. I wish we could just forget it, but… I guess at least one of us can move on, even if I'm… stuck with this.’  
  
_‘Stuck with this_ ,’ John mimicked him, not really trying to hide his annoyance. ‘You sound as if it's a bad thing. It's just a baby, Roger, people have them every day. Ronnie and I have four, and it never felt like we were stuck with anything. Just pull yourself together already, it's not the end of the world.’  
  
‘Let me get this straight,  mate, you came here to scold me?’  
  
‘I came here because I care and because I worry about you,’ John answered a bit dryly. ‘It isn't good for any of you if you go on behaving like this. And even if you're fine _now_ , things are gonna get a bit more difficult with time, Roger. Excluding Brian from all of this isn't going to help you. Or him.’  
  
‘Hasn't it crossed your mind that he doesn't want to be included?’ Roger asked, feeling a pang in his heart at his own words. It was okay, he could handle it, but it still hurt sometimes when he let his guard down.  
  
‘Oh really,’ John asked sarcastically, crossing his arms. He was apparently not having it. ‘My impression of it was slightly different.’  
  
‘What on earth do you even mean?’  
  
‘If you wanna know what I mean, go talk to him yourself. I'm not your middleman here,’  the younger man blurted out, looking away. Roger knew John hardly meant his words to come off as harsh, but the bassist seemed to regret them anyway, judging from his expression.  
  
‘What I also wanted to say is that I don't want you to exclude me either,’ he added, meeting the drummer's gaze again. ‘Just tell me if you need anything, okay?’  
  
Roger looked at him and couldn't really suppress a smile at the sight.  
  
It was true that John wasn't prone to expressing his feeling so overtly, so it was nice of him to say that. The thing was, he didn't really have to say anything for Roger to know he'd always have his back and would be there in any case and in any scenario. He even felt somewhat guilty for pushing someone who cared for him away, when they were just offering their help.  
  
‘Deaky, I promise you're allowed to break into this house as much as you want. And I'm glad you're here.’ Roger smiled, finally flopping down on the couch next to the bassist.

It felt like heaven, as the whole ride in the car, as well as the drum stool in the studio, and the hard table at the hospital gave him nasty back pain, and only now he realised how much he needed something soft and comfortable under his bum.

‘Just let me know it's you before I accidentally land anything on that bright head of yours. Not that the thingy on your head won't protect you, but it may still lose a great deal of its grandeur.’  
  
‘Oh, piss off, Roger,’ John chuckled, giving his friend a nudge. They just sat there together in silence, and it felt good and relaxing. Maybe Deaky had a point after all. Maybe he had to give it a try with Brian one more time. As much as he was aware they would never be anything more than friends, they were still going to have a child together, and it wasn't fair to pretend Brian had nothing to do with it. It was his child and if he wanted to be in their life, Roger would never hinder it. Unfortunately, _if_ was the key-word. Well, he might need to call the man one of these days, but right now he felt too good, almost napping on John's shoulder, and didn't really want to think about any impending conversations.  
  
‘Oh, congratulations,’ the bassist suddenly said, interrupting Roger's thoughts, his eyes focused on something on the table. ‘You found out today?’  
  
The drummer gave him a questioning look, not sure what else he could have found out lately, and had to trace the bassist's glance to see what the man was referring to. His eyes rested on a slightly crumpled piece of paper, and it took him a few moments to identify it as the one he'd been given by Dr Bates earlier at the clinic. He must've ditched it there when he was too busy dealing with the "intruder" and had completely forgotten about it later. His vision was _very_ far from being perfect, and under normal circumstances, he'd definitely need his prescription glasses to read anything from such a distance.  
  
The thing was, under normal circumstances the text wouldn't be written in bright green marker, and in this case, it apparently was a single word all over the page.  
  
Well, the paper was crumpled.  
  
He didn't see the whole of it.  
  
Surely it could be anything written there.  
  
Anything.  
  
Anything ending in  
  
_-irl_ .  
  
Roger blankly looked at the bassist, who was glancing at him with unhidden curiosity in his eyes, and suddenly the drummer had a drastic change of mind.  
  
Suddenly strangling the man right away before his next breaking and entering didn't sound like a bad idea at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand hello again) Here's the new chapter, thanks for reading. If you squint really hard you may find a bit of fluff in it.
> 
> p.s. I definitely didn't steal the idea with writing the gender on a paper from How I Met Your Mother, nope (or did i ◔ ⌣ ◔ )
> 
> Also, who did you think it was going to be? I actually changed my mind while writing this chapter, so I wonder if it's what you thought it would be or not:D


	12. Chapter 12

Brian was convinced this was the strangest part of his life, even though he’d rather refrain from giving it any assessment.  

He'd always wanted to be a father one day, but by no means this was how he had ever expected it to happen. There was no lovely wife in the picture, no happy kids running around their cottage house, no grandparents asking if they could take the grandchildren for the weekend. None of that was going to happen because he was reckless enough to let his emotions rule his reasoning.

When it happened the first time, he convinced himself they were caught up in the moment. They were tired, they were tense, they were angry. The degree of the wrongness was so high that it only turned them on even more, and soon he found himself cornering the drummer and feeling the younger man wrap his arms around his waist. They both knew what was to follow, and it felt wrong.  
  
And it felt so damn _good_ at the same time. They knew it was going to stay something they would never ever bring up to each other. Yet there was no embarrassment and no regret.  
  
The second time it happened, it was quick and rough. Brian knew he could be more careful, but they were short of time, and anyone could have walked in on them at any moment. It was scary to even think about what would happen had they been caught, and yet it wasn't scary enough for them to stop. There was an intangible force that was pulling them to each other, and they didn't care much to fight it.  
  
The third time it happened, Roger just had had a huge fight with the lead singer and was ready to destroy the room and everyone in it if they said one more word or took sides. It was the first time he approached himself. A glance was enough for Brian to understand what the man wanted and _needed_ , and he was just so ready to give it. Those pleading eyes and flushed cheeks were too perfect for him to resist.  
  
Then it happened again. And again. And again. Then he ceased to keep the count because it didn't make sense anymore.  
  
One might think it was too much for one little tour but… one didn't know. No one knew, actually, so why would they even care?  
  
It was supposed to be over once they came back but they always found a loophole, always saw an opportunity, and what was supposed to be just a fling turned into something neither of them could explain. It lasted for two years and yet ended so quickly and with consequences that were going to change his whole life. _Their_ lives, to be more correct,  
  
Logically, Brian knew he should have known better than to ever let things go this far. Or even to begin them altogether. But the thing was, he wasn't sure he wanted to listen to his logic anymore. A wife and a cottage house were not what he was going to get, but they weren't what he wanted to get either. What if it was right before him all that time, and he was just too blind to see? Who cared if it was wrong if it was the only thing that could bring him comfort and peace?  
  
But he had persuaded Roger they couldn't go on, so how could he tell him now he'd changed his mind? The drummer was doing his best to act the way he used to, to joke, to fool around, and if someone unaware and uninformed watched them communicate, they would see a perfect pair of friends.  
  
But what Brian saw was different. He saw the man keep distance, he saw him choose his words, and those were the most un-Rogerish things to do. And the reason for that was there all the time, reminding them that nothing was going to be the same again.  
  
There was no need for the baggy clothes just yet, but it was clear the drummer didn't want to highlight the bump Brian could only assume was there. As if he could forget for a second what was happening and how exactly he was involved in it.  
  
The sonogram he had accidentally nicked from Roger lay on his desk, covered by notes and music sheets, but he would still sometimes take it out and have a look.

In fact, at first he'd been thinking of giving it back but then decided against it, because, honestly, why would he? A part of him knew Roger might want it, too (and most probably did), but it was his only way to bond with his child, given the fact most of the time the drummer acted as if it wasn't even there. It was, and they were going to meet them sooner or later. In this case, it was rather sooner than later.

So that's why he almost choked on his tea when Roger called him one evening, his tone casual as always, but with a bit of shakiness in it.  
  
‘Umm, I thought you may wanna know.’  
  
It was the first time Roger touched upon the matter since their conversation at the drummer's house, and _oh God_ , Brian thought he'd forgotten how to breathe.  
  
_A girl_ . He said a girl.  
  
The guitarist didn't know for how long the topic was going to awe him in such a way, because it just didn't even make sense. He didn't know what he was afraid of. Maybe that wasn't even fear after all.  
  
‘Can I see you, please?’  
  
There was a long pause but the man spoke eventually.  
  
‘S-sure. You have any ideas or something? But… have you talked to Deaky anyway?’  
  
‘Yes,’ Brian automatically lied, ‘but they've left to see Veronica's parents, he's out of town.’

  
Okay, he'd better tell John to keep a low profile for a day or two, or it would be a bit hard to explain things to Roger if the man just showed up or called.

‘And, umm, actually, no, no ideas. Just thought we might go somewhere, it's been a while.’

He could hear the younger man take a deep breath, and could almost visualise how the drummer was mentally strangling him on the other end of the phone. Of course he didn't want to go out, but if he really wanted to play good ol Rog, he also couldn't tell him to piss off at such a proposal, could he?

Apparently, he could.  
  
‘Oh, mate, sorry,’ Roger theatrically sighed into the phone, ‘Totally slipped my mind. Got meself a new kit, and they're to deliver it today, sooo…’

‘A what?’ 

‘A drum kit, _Brian_ ,’ Roger explained, sounding rather annoyed. ‘I mean, I checked my mantelpiece to see if it was any good but I guess some of us just have to buy our instruments.’  
  
‘Oh, sure, Rog, no problem then,’ Brian said in a most benevolent voice, not buying a single word he'd just been told. He wouldn't even bother calling John if Roger and he were on the same wavelength. That is, the wavelength of total bollocks.

‘I can pop in then?’ he asked matter-of-factly, already anticipating the blond's reaction. ‘I'd like to see them, too. Well, the drums.’

And then there was another pause.  
  
‘Alright,’ Roger finally said, giving up, though his voice sounded as if he wanted to say something slightly different and less polite.  
  
‘See you then,’ Brian smiled, feeling he could count this a victory. A small one, but yes, he won this round.

 

* * *

  
‘Hiya mate,’ the guitarist boldly smiled, as Roger finally opened the door. If he really wanted things to go his way,  he'd have to be a bit braver than usual.

Roger, on the other hand, didn't look amused, to say the least, and Brian could see how he had an internal fight not to roll his eyes or… slam the door.  
  
They hadn't stayed together alone since last time he left that very house,  and right now Roger was managing a bit worse at being his usual self. It's been two weeks since their first meeting at the studio, which was followed by three more, but John was always there. He had also been giving Roger strange glances, but Brian hadn't had the chance to ask what was their meaning.

‘So how's it going?’ the guitarist asked, dropping into the armchair, crossing his legs. Roger only raised a brow at his question and apparently decided to ignore it.

‘You want a beer?’  
  
‘You _have_ beer?’  
  
‘Yes, in case someone shows up out of the blue like now, for example.’  
  
Well, frankly,  he wouldn't mind having something a bit stronger right now, but a beer would do as well. On the other hand, though, Brian thought it wouldn't be too fair to drink when Roger couldn't so he politely declined the offer, making a mental note to get himself a few cans on his way home. Roger apparently lost the fight and _did_ roll his eyes, sitting on the arm of the couch and looking at him oddly.  
  
‘What?’ Brian asked when it got a bit too much for him to ignore.  
  
‘You're acting strange, mate.’  
  
Strange? It was he who was acting strange now?  
  
‘I literally just sat down, Roger. You should try really hard to do it strangely.’  
  
‘Then why are you suddenly so cheerful? You're _not_ cheerful.’  
  
‘Well, thank you very much,’ the guitarist retorted, making sure he sounded offended.‘It's always nice to know what people think of you, Rog, isn't it?’

‘Oh, please, Brian, you know what I mean. Deaky's not even out of town, he called this morning, so be kind and cut the crap already, will you?’  
  
‘And I assume you won't be getting a new kit today, Roger?’ Brian asked much more calmly and peacefully. He had to keep things under control or it might not end well.  
  
‘Just get to your point.’  
  
Okay, that's why had come in the first place, wasn't it? He could do this, even though the response didn't really depend on him.  
  
‘Rog, I think we've made a mistake.’  
  
The drummer stared at him blankly, his face turning rather pale. Brian could see his lips tremble a bit but when he spoke his voice didn't quiver.  
  
‘And you're saying this _now_?’  
  
Huh? Saying what?  
  
‘I can't fucking believe this,’ the blond snapped, hands clenching and unclenching. ‘ _I_ _asked you_ , Brian, you had a say. You. Had. A. Say. And I can't fix anything now, so won't you just fu-’  
  
_‘What?_ ’ Brian interrupted him, totally confused. ‘That's not what I'm…that's not the mistake, _Roger_ .’  
  
The drummer didn't seem to react. He was still all tense, and Brian wondered if that was what the younger man was expecting him to do the whole time. Did he really think the guitarist would ever leave him alone in this? Was that why he had decided to push him away in the first place?  
  
Brian stood up and carefully pulled the younger man on the couch. Roger was all stiff but didn't fight, and the guitarist saw it as a chance to get a bit closer. He wasn't going to explain what he meant because he didn't think he could ever find the right words for it. Instead, he was going to do something he had never done before, and it was scary, but it was something he was quite eager to try. It was worth the risk.  
  
Brian could hear the younger man gasp as he locked their lips, and it felt like an entirely before Roger finally relaxed in his arms and kissed back, pulling himself closer. There was something ironic in the fact they had slept together for numerous times but had never _ever_ dared to do anything remotely like this. It was all new, and it made his heart pound like it was going to break his rib cage… and it made him want even more.  
  
Brian was only able to take a breath when Roger broke the kiss and stared at him, himself breathless and flushed, too.  
  
‘You mean this?’ he asked, his voice raspy and quiet, and Brian nodded because he _did_. He meant every second of it.  
  
The drummer nodded, too, but his mind seemed to be elsewhere. He looked somewhat confused as if there was something puzzling him to the bone. There was a frown upon his face, and Brian felt uneasy at the thought the other man _might not_ mean it after all. It felt too good to be a one-time thing. It felt too good for him to be rejected now.  
  
But soon the frown smoothed, and he saw something he hadn't seen for a long time - a cheeky smile and the clear, teasing eyes he didn't know he had missed so much. Brian heard himself let out a sigh of relief, but before he could utter a single word, the blond leaned for a kiss again, shutting him up, because what else could they even say?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, peeps. 
> 
> Sooo, as I posted the first chapter almost a half a year ago (doesn't feel like it, tho), I thought we might relax from the drama a bit, don't you find? So here am, ending the chapter nicely for once:D Hope you liked it:) And traditionally, thanks for reading, you really motivate me to write more.


	13. Chapter 13

Roger woke up with an unusual sensation in his chest, but his still sleepy head was unable to identify the cause of it. He only knew he felt good, and he hadn't felt this way for quite a long time, as if a great load had fallen off his chest. Apparently, it was still pretty early in the morning, judging from the quietness of the world behind his window, and the man started to drift off to sleep again, enjoying the peacefulness of the hour.

But what his mind couldn't do… his eyes could, and soon his stare fell on a dark cloud of hair spread all over the pillow, and the events of the night before came back like a tidal wave, flooding his mind once again.

_They had made it to the bedroom, finding the living room couch too stiff and uncomfortable to go on with their new undertaking. He felt like his heart could burst out at any moment, so unreal it seemed._

_‘You sure you wanna do this? Because I'm in no hurry, and maybe we should wait, you know…’ Brian pulled away, breaking the kiss._

_‘Oh no, don't be such a buzzkill, Bri, I don't remember you asking before,’ Roger grinned, already boldly unzipping the older man's trousers._

_‘Yes, b-but is this safe? For her… and you.’_

_‘It is. What's_ **_not_ ** _safe is that I'm soon going to have a halo above my head because of this abstinence. And you'd better do something about it,_ **_Brimi_** _._ _’_

_Brian sheepishly nodded, taking off his jumper and loosening the belt. When he was done, all his attention was back to Roger, but the drummer stood still, just cautiously looking at him._

_‘Umm… yeah, sorry,’ he mumbled as Brian raised a brow at his sudden retreat. He slowly pulled his trousers down, but stepped back when the older man came closer to give him a hand with his clothes._

_That was silly, and Roger knew he was ruining the moment but something in his mind just wouldn't let him relax. Brian must have caught on to this, as he carefully pulled Roger back to him, running his fingers across his spine._

_‘I don't know what makes you so uncomfortable lately, but I've got to assure you everything's fine.’_

_If_ **_fine_ ** _meant being almost five months pregnant and having an ever-growing body part, which was supposed to soon turn him into a needy whale then, yes, he was fine. Not that he could tell Brian any of that, but he'd rather people just ignored the fact he was having a baby rather then hovered over him as if he was sick or a kid himself._

_‘I just don't want you to see me or treat me differently now, because I'm still me, and just... don't do it, okay?’ Roger mumbled, feeling his cheeks flush, unable to help in any way._

_‘You're still you, got it.’ Brian nodded, pulling the hoodie over his head. His eyes rested on the swell of the drummer's belly, and Roger felt his heartbeat accelerate again. Here he was, the author of the whole mess, looking at his work._

_‘I'll be careful,’ the guitarist finally whispered, kissing him slowly._

Roger must have been starting really hard because soon the sleepy cloud opened its eyes and once again turned into his best friend. Well, he was still his best friend, among other things.

‘You okay, love?’, he asked, his voice still a bit raspy from sleep.

‘You snore, poodle.’

‘No, I don't,  you tease.’ Brian laughed, his words muffled into the pillow, a hand gently pinching Roger's cheek, making the younger man smirk even harder.

The drummer wanted to think things could stay like this at least for a while, but he had to admit such a possibility was infinitesimal. And he dreaded to think of what was coming next because he wasn't ready to face the consequences of what they had done.

‘You're gloomy again. What's the matter?’ Brian asked, tucking a blond strand behind his ear.

‘I'm just thinking what we're gonna do. And I have no idea, Brian. Do you?’

The older man averted his eyes, and that was an answer enough.

‘Have you told your mum… or  anyone?’

‘Not a single soul but you and Jim. Well, and Deaky, but that was you.’

‘So basically no one knows. That's a good start, but family isn't press, Rog. ’

‘Well, I'm sorry I don't feel like I can explain things to them right now. I mean, can you?’

Brian shook his head which only proved his point. No one was really privy to what had been happening between the two men for the past two years, and all of this might sound absurd even to their closest people. And if Roger was a wayward son, in a way, Brian was quite close to his mum and dad for this not to be an utter shock for them. They didn't take his breakup with Chrissie so well, and he knew the guitarist dreaded the possibility he might let them down. And what was this if not one big letdown?

‘See? And the problem is that if we choose to be silent, she won't be silent for too long,’ he said looking at his belly. ‘People are going to notice soon. It's a miracle they still don't.’

‘We'll deal with this. I wonder if you noticed but we haven't been bothered at all lately. By the press, I mean. If they think we're recording, it will win us some time. And then maybe  Fred will draw the attention for a while, too. Two albums will definitely be newsworthy.’

‘Oh, I didn't think we'll take advantage of being dumped. Your glass is really full,’ Roger muttered grumpily.

‘He'll come back, Rog. This was supposed to happen one day. It's just another… page, I guess.’

‘It's what Miami says. But he can't know and neither can you. I mean, why come back if you can have everything your way? I bet Fred's quite enjoying it now but he can do whatever the hell he wants, I don't care.’

‘You don't mean this, Rog,’ Brian sighed, looking rather sad himself.

No, he didn't. And that was the worst part.

It wasn't about the albums, really. Yes, he was rather angry when he found out they were now being a _burden_ for Freddie's career. But come on, who wouldn't be? 

And it wasn't even about what the man had said, though it hurt and hurt a lot. But then again, Roger himself had said things he wished he hadn't which was nothing new, really. They would often make it personal during arguments, and that's what Queen had always been like, a very angry, loud family. But a family, nevertheless.

And now it wasn't there, it wasn't whole, and while he needed the man more than ever in his life, he just wasn't there. Roger never got a call-back after his attempt to talk to the lead singer, and maybe that was for the better. If he had to let Freddie go, he'd better stop waiting for him to show up or hope he'd still need them when he apparently didn't.

Well, they didn't have to need him either, did they? They were a bunch of hella good musicians, thank you very much, and they could perfectly cope with this. After all, he himself had spent so much time proving to other people his ideas were good and worthy that it had become rather tiring. It was much tougher in the beginning than now but there was still something in him that made him feel hesitant about his music, and now it could be gone because he had to answer to no one. And that was a good thing, wasn't it? 

Then why didn't it feel like it all? 

Roger heard himself sniff and quickly turned away. He didn't want to bother the guitarist with his mood swings and all the other perks that pregnancy brought, even though, quite frankly, he'd been prone to going from one extreme to another even before.

Brian, however, was lost in his own thoughts and luckily heard nothing. Brian who, unlike Freddie, was right there, next to him,so close it felt unreal. 

It wasn't about the sex, no, although Roger had made his mind it was never going to happen again. 

It was just that he'd never dared to _think_ Brian might ever feel the same, and it was somewhat scary to see the man wake up next to him like this. It was strange to feel him kiss him, and he was scared this might turned out to be some sort of a trick or a joke.

Because after all, he had liked the man for too long not to get used to the idea he was alone in this, and it was fine. Tim might have suspected something back in the day but he had never asked about it directly, and it was easy for Roger brush off all the smirks and remarks from the bassist. And then no one noticed ever again… mainly because of the girls. Numerous girls who liked him, and don't get him wrong, he liked them _just as much_ . Some of his “relationships” lasted for a few weeks, some for nights, and some of them had made him think it might actually work this time. Unless they didn't. They never did. 

But again, it was fine, it was never his priority to settle down or get married. Or to have kids, what an irony.

And now it was all gone and there was the guitarist, softly humming something in his bed.

He could only wonder what had made Brian change his mind but he wasn't sure he'd take it well had this turned out one big mistake. It was easy to pretend he felt nothing but he might have lost that option now and couldn't think of any other.

‘Do you… does she kick?’ Brian asked, interrupting his thought, his whole attention glued to the bump. He was now drawing circles on the drummer's skin, and Roger found it a bit odd to have someone touch him there apart from his doctor. It felt nice, though. Frankly, it felt good.

‘Um, no. Not really. I feel _something... sometimes_ , but it's still weak. It's like… popcorn popping inside you.’

Brian raised a brow, giving him an amused look.

‘Popcorn? Are you hungry?’ he laughed, sitting up. ‘Oh, you must be, though.’

‘No,’ Roger lied, feeling his stomach growl at the thought. He _might_ be a bit hungry, but nothing on Earth was going to make him leave the bed right now, and he didn't want Brian to go either. Breakfast could wait, and besides, even though Brian's cooking skills were _unjustly_ ranked higher than his, the mere idea of having a spinach salad or broccoli made him feel unwell. Not that he had any of those in his fridge, but they had once all lived together, and he knew the healthy and not delicious things had a habit to miraculously appear out of nowhere when the guitarist was somewhere nearby.

‘No, but you need to eat,’ Brian protested, pulling a shirt over his head. ‘You stay here, I'll be back in a moment,’ he said, leaving the room before Roger could say anything.

The drummer let out a loud sigh and got up too, heading for the bathroom. He turned on the water and soon felt it flow down his back, mixed with the unscented shampoo he'd got when he was still feeling sick. Back then, getting it seemed to be the cleverest idea he'd ever had, but now he wished it smelt better and not like some weird soap in his hair. The last few months of his life had been a real roller-coaster, and he found it rather annoying he couldn't catch up with his own whims and wishes. How long it was going to stay like this, he could only guess.

Some ten or fifteen minutes later he heard Brian's voice telling him to get out already, as _it_ was cooling down. He reluctantly turned the water off, and wrapped a towel around his waist, leaving the steamy bathroom. Well then, if he was going to face the spinach, he was going to do it bravely.

Roger found the guitarist in the kitchen, leaning on the counter and having his tea, whilst another cup was waiting for him on the table. What was next to it, however, did not resemble the green evil in the slightest, and he broke into a grin as he watched Brian roll his eyes at his reaction. Well, who could judge him? A full English wasn't what one might expect from such a nagging vegetarian.

‘You're an angel, mate,’ Roger laughed, pulling the chair to sit down when suddenly he felt an urge to hold on to it for dear life. It must've been etched on his face, as Brian turned rather pale, his eyes doubling in size.

‘Rog, what happened?’ he asked, instantly appearing next to the drummer.

‘Nothing,’ the younger man exhaled, his hand instinctively cupping his bump. ‘I'm fine… it just…’

 

_‘Does she kick?’_

_‘Not really. It's like popcorn popping inside you.’_

 

‘I guess I owe you an update,’ he spoke, looking at a rather confused Brian, whose face still had no hint of colour,  ‘That felt nothing like popcorn.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! Here's a semi-fluffy chapter for ya:) Hope you liked it, it was actually quite fun to write.


	14. Chapter 14

‘Just try this on,’ John murmured, already growing tired of persuading his interlocutor, who half lay on his bed, looking like a dead fish, staring at the ceiling with a hopeless expression. Roger had recently bought some new clothes, as his regular stuff ceased to fit anymore, but still found them somewhat atrocious and wouldn't give up so easily. John was inclined to think the reason for this was not at all the clothing itself but the mere fact he had to change his wardrobe because _he_ was changing as well. Brian and John had been nagging Roger for a while now about stretching every piece of clothing he owned, but apparently, the drummer couldn't really care less. 

‘I don't want it,’ Roger growled, tossing the shirt across the room. It landed on the floor lamp and, and to the owner's utter disappointment, was returned to the bed immediately. 

‘Well, you don't seem to have a choice, do you?’ the bassist frowned, now trying to dodge away from a pillow flying in his direction. Roger could be whining about not being at his best as much as he wished, but at least his aiming skills didn't suffer one bit. The blond let out a victorious snort as the pillow hit the bassist's perms and fell to his feet.

‘I do. I'm gonna stay home, and I can ask someone else to do it.’

‘I thought we have talked about this,’ John sat down on the bed, messing up the drummer's hair.

‘There aren't any reporters lurking in the streets and they don't even know for the time being, so I'd really appreciate if you stopped panicking, for God's sake.’

‘And I may really like to keep it that way, don't you think? And right now this is not about the press or whatever, it's about _you_ making me do _this_ ,’ he yelled, getting off the bed to finally put on the blasted shirt.

‘Don't dramatise, it looks fine.’

‘You know what I mean.’

Well, _yes_ , he kind of did. The reason why he was trying to dress the blond into something decent-looking in the first place. 

It was already late December and was pretty cold outside, which in their case was actually an advantage. The coats and jackets could still hide what the lighter clothes couldn't, and frankly, Roger was somewhat exaggerating the gravity of the whole situation. It was quite a wonder to him they had managed to go on with their lives as if nothing had happened, but no one knew, and it was a fact.

That particular time of the year, however, also implied a celebration of one particular holiday, and neither of his bandmates seemed to be too delighted about it. No matter how much John had nagged and reminded them to inform the families about the impending addition, up to this day Miami and he stayed the only people privy to what was going on. And now the whole thing was snowballing into something he wasn't sure they could deal with.

Roger had already declined to leave for Truro, claiming he was too tied up at the moment, and Brian, who would initially support John in this matter, stopped talking about it whatsoever, looking more and more discouraged every time the bassist addressed the topic. And he _would_ address the topic quite often because once things went downhill again, he'd be the one to deal with it. And, frankly, it was rather tiring.

And yet, the doomsday arrived and the things unfolded quite differently from what they had been hoping for. Roger could be really stubborn but he hadn't got it from nowhere, and Winifred's persistent calls and his lack of excuses made him eventually give up, convincing himself it might still be the best time to do it. The thing was, however, the way he'd decided to do it was far from being the best.

Instead of actually going to Truro like any normal person would, he'd asked her to come to London without giving any further explanation, and here they were, getting ready for the inevitable catastrophe because, despite the silliness of the situation, she had agreed to come. Brian had volunteered to be there with the blond, but he was visiting his own parents later in the day and needed to prepare for his part. If they were to do it, they would do it both.

The drummer was to be at the station in an hour, so they left the house together, parting on their way. John wished the man good luck, reminding him to give him a call as soon as he was done, but all he earned was a death stare mixed with a glimpse of despair. Well, he could tell Roger there was nothing to worry about, but honestly, that was going to sound way too unconvincing. And _honestly_ , he’d warned them, and he’d warned them a lot.  

 

* * *

 

Roger was quite aware he had a bunch of responsibilities no one else was going to tend to. Avoiding people took a hell of an effort, and he was never used to the introverted, rather isolated life the pregnancy had brought. He wasn't necessarily a party animal, but going out for a drink, seeing some friends outside the group, relaxing like normal people did was now a luxury he couldn't afford, and that was annoying, to say the least.

It had been a unanimous decision for Brian and him not to tell anyone for a while, but now they were running out of time. The fact the press hadn't sniffed out anything yet was a marvel but he couldn't rely on that marvel for too long, risking being exposed in the most inconvenient time without having a plan. 

Well, actually, he _could_ , if you asked him, but a certain bass player would regularly nag him about the topic, and for the sake of his own nerves and well-being he had to surrender. 

So with a heavy heart, he phoned his mother, asking if she had any plans for Christmas, as odd as it might sound. He again apologised for not making it to Truro himself but mentioned that he would _really_ like to see her sometime. Sometime very soon. Roger wasn't sure why she had even said yes, leaving her husband, daughter and the in-laws during the holiday, but the fact was she was going to be in London in about an hour, and he was to drive her to his house. 

The idea of going to the crammed and crowded station didn't really please him, and neither did the fact she might _notice_ way before he had the chance to explain things but there were no other options. Logically he could have Brian do it, but that would make things tenfold harder, and in addition to that, all his bandmates had always been irrationally scared of his mother, which Roger wasn't able to explain up to this moment. Unless now it wasn't that irrational, after all.

And frankly, Brian didn't really have to deal with his mother when he himself was going to tell both of his parents in a few hours.

That was another thing that was making Roger rather uneasy. They couldn't really know how Ruth and Harold would react to the news, but they were both quite aware it was nothing they had been expecting for their son, and Brian hated disappointing them. He'd already done it once when he refused to complete his PhD, and they wouldn't even talk for a while. Back then the guitarist wasn't in a good place, to say the least.

And now he _was_ , and they were trying to build their lives with the given circumstances, and it was actually _good_. They hadn't quite figured out what kind of a relationship they had, but Roger liked it anyway. He liked it that he no longer had to leave the bed right after they'd had sex, that they could kiss, cuddle, and spend some time together in a way they had never done before. Brian didn't complain if Roger was being too whiny, angry, hungry, horny and whatnot, and the drummer didn't really want to think about what would happen had everything turned out to be a failure. He wasn't sure he had the energy to deal with another drama right now. 

But Brian's parents were Brian's parents, and he had to worry about himself first. He had no plan, hadn't thought of what he was going to say or what he wanted to hear, and with each passing second the waiting was becoming more and more unbearable.

He arrived at the station five minutes prior to the train's arrival and soon noticed a familiar figure in the crowd. His mother was not a tall woman but he could somehow easily spot her among all the hustle and bustle of the station. She greeted him with one of her stern, tight smiles but unlike his bandmates, he knew what was behind it, so he returned the smile, waving to her.

‘Where is your car dear, it's bitter cold,’ she inquired, as they now tried to squeeze through the people. Winifred was soon sat in the backseat of his Aston Martin, and Roger thought the ride was promising to be interesting.

‘Roger, you know I don't approve of how you ruin your hair with all that bleach but at least do keep it neat,’ he heard his mother say as he started the car.

Ah, yes. The treacherous roots, growing the way they had never grown before. To be frank, he had tried to tend to that little problem of his, but Brian seemed to have some other ideas on that topic, and they had ended up arguing whether it was okay to use bleach in his condition or not. The guitarist had recently read a few books for expectant parents, and now the contents of those books were stripping away Roger’s last chances to lead a relatively normal life.

‘I assume you haven't been too busy lately?’ she added, looking at him somewhat suspiciously. 

‘Is everything okay at home?’ he asked her back, hoping to change the topic for a while. 

‘Not bad. Clare was to come this evening, of course, and I thought you'd want to join us, too. I'm afraid I'll have to leave tomorrow, and Roger, I honestly don't understand what could possibly have happened but I'm a bit worried for you.’

Oh, if she was worried now, he could only guess what she'll be feeling once he told her.

‘Don't be. I'm fine, it's just, erm, we need to talk. But I-I know a good place nearby, and if you want we could celebrate... ’

His mother only gave him a stern look, fixing her headscarf. ‘Christmas is about family, not places.’

‘Right,’ he spoke cautiously. ‘Well, that's actually what I wanted to discuss. I'll have someone drive you home in the morning, will that be fine? You don't need to take the train again.’

‘I like travelling by train, that's no trouble, dear,’ she said, her eyes focused on the view from the car window.

They stayed silent for the rest of the ride, and Roger was trying to think of any possible ways to break the news without too much drama following it. Unlike him, his mother wasn't prone to dramatising, but the given circumstances were slightly out of the ordinary, and the idea of telling her alone now seemed less and less enticing.

When they finally reached their destination, the drummer froze in his seat, unable to get out or do anything at that point. Winifred leaned to him, her hand brushing his hair, making the blond turn back.

‘Roger, just tell me what's wrong.’ 

Roger gulped at the sight of his mother, but there was no option for retreating now.

‘Do you like kids, mum?’

‘Why, dear, of course, I do.’

‘Well, then… that's good… I suppose,’ he spoke nervously. ‘Because you're gonna meet one soon. And no, Dom hasn't miraculously returned,’ he half-smirked, predicting the following question.

Winifred was looking at him blankly, definitely having grasped the idea, but waiting for more detail. He wasn't sure he _could_ provide any more detail right now, so he just got out of the car and opened the door for her, too. Once she was out, the drummer simply undid his coat, taking away the meagre disguise his midsection had had.

 

* * *

 

Roger was sat on his couch, his hands cupping a mug of ginger tea. It would be an understatement to say he was extremely confused at the moment and was eyeing his mother’s back with a puzzled look. She was fussing around the kitchen, not granting him a single stare, and the drummer could feel a wave of panic rise in him. 

‘Mum?’ he asked, trying to get her attention. ‘Mum, what are you doing?’

‘Making dinner, what else?’

‘You don't have to. I can do it just fine.’

She only raised an eyebrow at his statement and went on as if he'd never interrupted her in the first place. As she was done peeling the potatoes, Winifred put the knife down with a loud bang, turning to the drummer with a face he couldn't really interpret.

‘Who?’ she asked, and somehow he knew _what_ she was asking.

‘Look, it was an accident.’

‘Who was it, Roger? Do I know him?’

‘Yeah, you kinda do,’ he replied sheepishly, wondering whether the _who's_ identity would ameliorate or deteriorate her reaction. She had always seemed to like Brian, even though the guitarist would probably argue that point. She liked him, yes, but the thing was, she might simply change her opinion of him instead of being relieved.

‘It's-,’ he cleared his throat, trying to breathe the panic away. ‘It's Brian. I hope I don’t have to clarify which one?’

Winifred rolled her eyes, and he could swear it was the first time he'd ever seen her do it.

‘So very nice of him. And where is he now exactly?’ 

‘Home. Literally doing the same thing right now. We thought it would be easier if we… told you guys separately. But I guess there's no easy way for this anyway.’

She pursed her lips disapprovingly, turning back to her cooking. ‘I would still like to see him sometime, it would be right, don't you find?’

Roger had no time to answer, as she went on. ‘You don't seem to have anything at the ready. This place is not suitable for having a child, when are you planning to prepare for it?’

‘Well, it's not like she's coming right now,’ the blond protested, too frustrated to register he hadn't even told his mother it was a girl. She didn't comment on it, but her stare gave her away. Well, one more thing to feel guilty about wasn't going to change much.

‘You will need to convert one of the rooms into a nursery,’ she said, mixing the vegetables in the oven. ‘And by you I mean _him_. Don't even think of moving around the furniture yourself.

Roger nodded, not really sure what to say anymore. ‘You're not… mad at me. How come you're not mad at me?’

‘Oh, I am,’ she said, her voice pitched higher than usual. ‘How do you think I'm supposed to feel when you tell me like this, almost six months later, in your kitchen on Christmas Eve? I knew for sure something was wrong but not to this extent,’ she said, looking as though she wouldn't mind having a cigarette. Occasional smoking was her one small vice, but apparently not something she would indulge in in his presence.

Well, he had assumed things could go wrong, which they apparently were doing. Sad but not surprising.

Roger cupped his bump, as the baby started kicking again. It wasn't the most comfortable feeling he'd ever had, but he was getting used to it, and the truth was the baby was no longer something he viewed as _wrong_. He'd messed up a lot, yes, they all had, but what was past was past, and he wasn't going to let it plague his mind anymore. For once he was going to try and let go of it.

‘She's rather active at this time of the day,’ he muttered at the strange whirling sensation in his abdomen. ‘You wanna feel?’

  
Roger shifted his position on the sofa to give her more space to sit down. Winifred seemed to let out a quiet sigh, but was soon next to him, her hand gently stroking his bump.

‘I just wish you told me,’ she said, her anger all gone now. ‘And not only about this. Turns out there are plenty of things I had no idea about, Roger. All those girls… ’

‘I'm not… gay, mum, if that's what you're saying. I mean, I liked them, it's just… I like him, too. And maybe more than anyone else.’

Winifred stared at him for a while, but her mind seemed to be somewhere else. Maybe, _maybe_ there were way too many confessions there for one little holiday.

‘I've got to finish the dinner,’ she said, getting up, heading to the stove. ‘I wouldn’t, of course, call this a traditional Christmas dinner, but I think it’s good. We can still celebrate, just three of us, don’t you think?’

 

* * *

 

Roger was switching the channels in the dark living room when he heard the bell ring. He wasn't really expecting any guests, so it was unclear who could be visiting on Christmas day at such an hour. _Day_ wasn't really the right word, though.

It was already past midnight, his mother was fast asleep in the guest room, and he'd been planning to head to the bed as well. It had been a long crazy day, and all he wanted was to get under his blanket and drift off, letting his mind relax and rest from everything. But the bell continued to ring, and he heard a familiar voice behind the door. Roger momentarily opened it, letting in the tall, lanky figure that he knew so well. 

‘I decided to come and check how you're doing,’ Brian said, putting off his jacket. ‘Is everything alright?’

‘Merry Christmas to you too. And yes, it is, but for your information, my mum's literally in the next room,’ Roger whispered, unable to suppress a laugh at Brian's expression at the mention of his mother.

‘Should I run for my life?’

‘She's asleep, I think you're safe for a while,’ the drummer said, as he pushed Brian towards the couch. ‘She won't wake up if we're really quiet.’

‘Well, in my defence, you're the one who's usually not,’ the older man chuckled, brushing away a lock from Roger's face. The blond let out a quiet whimper, leaning to him much closer, giving the guitarist a silent kiss on the neck. He felt Brian's hands wrap around his waist, and the man carefully placed the drummer on his back, slowly topping him.

Well, he did want to sleep, but this was promising to be better than anything a few hours alone in his bed could give him. Too bad there was something that was bugging him, and he couldn’t really put his finger on it.

And then it clicked.

‘Brian, wait,’ Roger gasped, sitting upright again.   

‘What is it, love?’ 

‘You didn't tell me.’

The older man didn't seem to grasp what he was referring to, so Roger had to clarify.

‘ _Your parents_. What did they say?’ he asked impatiently, feeling his throat go dry. He was so carried away with Brian's sudden visit that he had completely forgotten the guitarist had also gone through the very same things as he had.

The other man distanced himself a bit but had a reassuring smile on his face, so Roger let himself relax a bit. If he was calm, then everything must've been alright.

‘They're- they're happy, Rog,’ Brian said, clearing his throat. ‘I mean I was obviously a bit worried in the beginning, you know, but everything's fine. They want to see you when they come back.’

‘Come back?’ Roger asked, still a bit confused.

‘Erm, yeah. They're visiting my aunt in Norfolk. She's been sick for a while, and she lives alone, so mum thought a bit of company would be good for her. They're off tomorrow morning.’

‘Ah, so is mine. I mean…  mum leaves at ten. But you can hide in the bedroom, I won't give you away,’ Roger grinned, his eyes getting rather heavy. He leaned on the older man, feeling sleep slowly dawn on him.

‘For the last time, Roger, I'm not afraid of your mother,’ Brian chortled, getting off the couch so that Roger wouldn't use him as a human pillow. ‘And I don't think this is where you wanna wake up in the morning, sleepyhead. Come on.’

‘Oh, you buzzkill,’ Roger moaned, but let the older man usher him to the other room. He changed into his pyjamas and gave Brian one of the pairs he had left in the drummer’s house before. The softness of the bed was indeed blissful, and Roger was glad he'd most probably fall asleep without tossing around to find the comfortable position. Brian switched off the lights and joined him right afterwards.

‘I’m just so glad they took this well,’ the drummer spoke into the darkness, now feeling Brian’s warm breath against his neck. ‘This secrecy is becoming a pain in the arse.’

‘Mm-hmm, but I was sure they would,’ Brian yawned into his ear, moving closer.

‘Right, you definitely weren’t the one who resembled a ghost these past few days.’

‘I was all confidence. Now please do sleep, because we should get up early, and I’m not facing your mother alone, mister.’

‘Yeah, an epitome of courage,’ Roger mumbled, closing his eyes. ‘Sleep well.’

‘You too, Rog,’ Brian whispered somewhat sadly, which Roger, however,  was too drowsy to register.

 

‘Goodnight.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hi, long time no see!
> 
> I'm so glad to have finally posted this chapter, peeps, it's kinda been a while:D
> 
> Hope you liked it, and yes, this was a Christmas chapter in August. A bit weird, but it's technically winter in the fic, so skipping it would be wrong.
> 
> And as per usual, thanks for reading <3


	15. Chapter 15

‘No, we are not going to make any public announcements, Jim,’ Brian hissed into the phone, hoping their conversation wouldn't wake Roger up.

The drummer was peacefully dozing on the living room couch, having one of his occasional naps which were supposed to make up for his general lack of sleep. He'd got much bigger now that he had hit his third trimester, and the baby would give him a hard time doing a lot of things, including having a good night's sleep without being woken up every few hours to go to the toilet, or simply because she was being overactive.

Brian himself had got a fair share of sleepless nights while staying with the drummer, and more often than not he'd be accused of causing the whole trouble by _putting it there_ in the first place. He still tried to make the blond as comfortable as he could, but at this exact moment, he, apparently, was going to cause the opposite.

‘He's stressed enough, and we don't need this now.’

‘All I'm saying is that time's not on your side,’ Miami spoke into the phone, his voice as calm as usual. Brian could swear he'd never seen the man concerned or agitated, but years of experience had taught him that their manager's tone didn't mean there was nothing to be agitated about. 

‘Right now they're interested in your absence,’ the man went on, ‘but if they dig deeper… Brian, my point is that if you announce it first, you won't be caught off-guard, and besides, that's a reason enough for the band to take some time off. No one in their mind will think he can play now.’

‘We're not using our baby to excuse Fred's sodding off,’ Brian snapped impatiently, thinking of a way to end the conversation. ‘I don't even get why they're after us. We're not the ones doing two albums with CBS if I'm not mistaken.’

‘You're an English band, it's the English press. Simple as that. They're hunting who's available.’

‘Well, we're certainly _not_. I honestly don't care, Jim, you know we've got a lot to deal with without them watching every step we take, you _know_ it. Please have this sorted, I've got to go now,’ he said, putting the phone down almost immediately. 

‘Don't you think that was a bit too harsh?’ Brian heard a voice say behind his back. He turned around to see a pair of drowsy eyes, staring at him curiously from the couch.

‘You were supposed to be sleeping,’ he sighed, indeed feeling somewhat guilty for venting his frustration on the manager like that. He hated being ungrateful after everything the man had done for them in the last couple of months, but there were still things he was too sensitive about. Their own well-being and mental stability, for example.

‘And miss how you're being passive-aggressive over the phone? Don't take all my entertainments, life's already pretty dull.’

‘Well, don't fret about this, it's settled,’ Brian said, plopping next to the drummer. He felt Roger stir closer, and wrapped his hands around the younger man's shoulders, letting him use him as a cushion. It was relaxing just to sit like that for a while, but the blond seemed to have some other ideas about what they could be doing together on the couch, and soon the guitarist felt a pair of hands wander under his shirt. He gently pulled away, earning a sceptical look from the drummer, but Roger still gave in and backed off.

‘It's eleven in the morning, Rog,’ Brian chuckled, trying to sound amused.

‘You didn’t complain last time,’ the blond pouted, but to Brian’s relief, didn’t seem to hold a grudge for the sudden rejection.

‘I'm not, I just don't want this to be too much for you.’

Roger looked at him gravely and only after a while did Brian realise the blond was simply trying to keep a straight face.

‘You know how to get away with it, don’t you,’ he grinned, nudging Brian right into the ribs. ‘Dunno what’s got into you, but okay, I won’t interrogate.’

Well, quite frankly, it wasn’t that _he_ knew what had got into him, even though such fits of mild panic weren’t really a rarity anymore. He could blame Jim with his silly plan but in fact, things were becoming a bit too overwhelming for him to handle, and he was scared to think of what was going to happen had he lost control over them.

He was trying his best to keep Roger away from all of it, assuring him there was nothing to worry about but wasn't even sure in his own words. The tabloids were certainly not impressed by the band's _no comment_ policy, and their recent inactivity merely turned out to be the calm before the storm. He was sure Roger realised that, too, but neither of them had any idea of what they were supposed to do now. 

Brian had sometimes been thinking of asking John to come up with some sort of idea but then decided to abstain from it. As a matter of fact, they hadn't even seen Deaky for a month or so. The bassist and Veronica had just returned from their Bali vacation and had only talked to them over the phone for a few times. They were still going to meet John one of these days but had unanimously agreed not to burden the bassist with their mess any longer, already feeling somewhat guilty for making him sort out everything for themselves. Deaky never complained, but they really weren’t eager to push the limits of his patience.

What Brian was eager to do, however, was to organise some sort of a vacation for themselves, desperately needing some rest from everything. The winter was drawing to its end, leaving behind another three months of planning, worrying, stressing, and having quite a good time together, too. Because despite everything, it was still the most extraordinary period of his life and he intended to give it a go.

A little vacation would be a perfect start. He hadn't thought of a destination yet but he was sure Roger would like the idea, too, and could choose the place himself. There wasn’t much time left before the baby’s birth but they both deserved a little rest before diving into another crazy chapter of their lives.

Unless there was still some unfinished business to tend to, and the sudden sound of the buzzer came as a confirmation to his thoughts.

‘We’ve got stuff to do, remember? he asked the drummer, who totally ignored the remark, too busy consuming biscuits right from the box. Brian only sighed and got up to head to the door, wondering how he could have forgotten the unspoken and unwritten rule of the house.

The buzzer, the alarms, and basically anything which would make a noise to draw attention were _his_ problem.

 

* * *

 

‘Bri, I think I don't mind.’

They were done decorating the nursery and now were sat on a huge white fluffy rug that Roger insisted he absolutely needed in the room. Well, at least one of them was actually sitting. Roger had his head on Brian's lap, and the guitarist was stroking his hair while they were discussing whether they had to paint the walls or if the room was fine as it was.

There were beige wallpapers on the walls, which didn't really seem to suit the idea of a nursery, but Brian had to admit they looked pretty nice in combination with the new furniture. They had gone to some shops to see if they cloud get something right there, but to Roger's dismay, ended up ordering the whole stuff from the IKEA catalogue.

There was a lovely white crib in the corner, which Roger compared to a cage as soon as he saw it. A closet, a sofa, and a Christmas gift from the Deacons which made Brian beam every time he looked at it – a golden-silver star mobile, hanging right above the crib.

The drawers were already full of baby clothes, despite the fact they hadn't yet purchased a single piece of clothing themselves. The thing was, Roger might soon start having nightmares about his mother turning up at his door with another set of baby grows, shirts, knitted socks and hats, and basically everything that a newborn could potentially wear in the first six months (or years, if you asked Roger) of their life.

Winifred apparently couldn't be bothered by the fact she lived in another town and would quite regularly travel to London just to make sure everything was perfect and ready. Which meant she wouldn't leave for another day or two. _Which_ meant Brian had to mind his steps around her not to lose her mercy once again.

After the first time he talked to her on Boxing Day, it was clear she wasn't mad with Roger but was quite pissed off with him instead. It took her some time to set aside her discontent and the glances and let him be in the same room, without making Brian want the floor to open up and swallow him. It was gone now, but he still chose to be careful around her. Just in case.

‘Do you even listen to me?’

Roger waved a hand at his face, bringing him back into reality. ‘Hello? Earth to Brian.’

‘Umm, yeah, sure. Sorry. What did you say?’ He felt a bit puzzled now that he'd been pulled out of his thoughts.

‘I said I don't mind.’

‘You don't mind what?’

‘Telling them,’ Roger gulped, looking away. ‘Like Jim said.’

‘Wait what?’ 

Brian still wasn't sure if he got him right but the mere thought be _might have_ slightly terrified him. Roger took a deep breath, looking at him like a teacher would look at a student who didn’t get what he said after ten times.

‘I want to tell the press, stop playing dumb.’

So he did get him right. He almost wished he hadn't.

‘Come on, this won't make up for Freddie's absence. They're not that dumb,’ Brian answered, getting up and heading to the window. The room was suddenly too stuffy to his taste, and he only realised it was still winter when he felt the bitter February air sting his face.

‘This has nothing to do with him.’ 

‘Then what?’

‘I'm getting paranoid, Brian, that's what.’ Roger somehow got off the rug, too, giving him an angry look as he tried to help, and shut the window before the rain would make a puddle on the windowsill.

‘I can't even go anywhere public without driving, the press just won't fuck off, and how on earth are we even going to raise her like this? It's not that they won't find out anyway.’

‘Look, if that will make you feel better, Deaky and I can give an interview, it'll calm them down for a while. At least that will give us some wiggle room before we decide what to do.’ Brian tried to reason him but it was no use at all.

‘I already told you what we should do.’

‘Rog, you need to think this over. There will be no retreating then, this will be it.’

Roger stared at him somewhat baffled as if he wasn't entirely sure he had heard him correctly.

‘Are you _joking_? Brian, fucking look at me, you think I have room to retreat? It was it when we agreed to keep her.’

‘God, that's not what I meant. But Rog, you need to listen to me. Just once. _Please_.’

Brian almost cringed at his own pleading voice, and judging from the drummer's face, so did he. The thing was, the older man was more than ready to fulfil any wish or whim Roger had but right now even thinking about what he was asking gave him a sick feeling in his stomach. 

Because the truth was, as much as he had tried to comfort Roger about their impending exposure, he was still well aware of the stigma they wouldn't be able to get rid of, and this just wasn't the right time. They needed peace and calm to get ready for their child, but there were just too many things that occupied his mind every bloody second, and he knew there were things they couldn't escape.

The percentage of male pregnancies was significantly lower than that of females, and in more conservative societies it was considered to be some kind of an abnormality rather than something natural. Not everyone could conceive. Those who could might not even know about it without a full medical examination. Male births were considered much more difficult and traumatic, and as much as he wouldn't accept it, it scared him sick to think something might go wrong.

But what caused the stigma wasn't that, no.

Brian was quite sure those pregnancies would still be cherished and celebrated had they occurred in more… traditional relationships, but they didn't. It was something that would only result from gay sex, and the social response to it was far from being good. And they knew it too well.

All those years he'd felt sorry for their lead singer for his constant clashes with the press, but only now could he really understand how little he had valued their own peace. He couldn't let them get them now that they were so vulnerable. 

And he couldn't let them do it for one more reason he dreaded to even mention to the drummer.

‘Can you please explain what's going on?’ Roger asked cautiously, apparently not sure about how to react at the older man's odd behaviour. Brian felt as if they had reversed their roles, and it was now the blond who looked baffled by the other's sudden mood swing. 

‘Nothing. I just can't do it now.’

‘Why the hell not? You think I like the idea so much? Must disappoint you then, I've been thinking about this since forever. Since the bloody day I took the test.’

If he could, Brian would flee the room and go to his house, just to avoid going on with the topic. It would very much feel like signing his own death sentence but he was almost ready to give in to it because staying and saying what Roger wanted to hear was equally bad. 

And still, he couldn't run. Again. He couldn't chicken out one more time and then deal with even worse consequences.

‘They will learn from the press,’ he said, his voice void of any emotion. Here, he did it. Well, _almost_.

‘Who?

_Who do you think?_

‘Rog, listen to me for a second, and then ask whatever you want.’ Brian felt his throat go dry as he tried to speak, but went on anyway.

‘This really is the most… exciting thing that has happened to me in a while… or in my life, really. Made me realise how I felt about us and everything we were doing and… at first, I thought my life was falling apart but that was the turning point, I guess. Realising that it wasn't. You know what I mean?’  

The drummer didn't answer, so he had to go on just to break the silence. ‘All I'm saying is that… I'm happy we're having her but not everything is that easy.’

Brian could almost see the little gears spin in the younger man's head as he looked at the guitarist with a frown on his face. He couldn’t bring himself to say the actual thing, but something inside told him he’d conveyed the idea alright.

‘You didn't tell them, did you?’ Roger asked way too calmly, and Brian felt a chill go down his spine at the tone of his voice.

‘I wanted to, I swear. Mum was just too-’

‘You didn't tell them,’ the blond went on, ‘and you decided to stay with me because there were no other options left? Because this wasn't bad either? That's what you meant when you said you were sure about us that day?’

‘Please don't put it that way.’

‘Oh, so you did.’

Brian wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. Part of him was dying to tell Roger not to twist his words and let him properly explain himself. Part of him knew there was very little he could actually explain.

And part of him was too scared of how calm the younger man seemed to be when he was supposed to be fuming with anger.

‘You know, I'm not a complete idiot,’ Roger gave a nervous chuckle. ‘It's been… how much? Two months? Two bloody months since they allegedly went to see your aunt, you think I didn't realise something went wrong? I just thought maybe… I don't know, maybe they were heartbroken their only son turned out to be a fa-.’

‘Roger, for fuck's sake, shut up. How can you say this?’ 

Brian didn't mean to yell at the younger man, but all the tension and worry he'd been accumulating for the past two months was just too much for him to hold now. And still, Roger didn't even flinch at his voice.

‘Well, what do you want me to say?’

The guitarist tried to pull himself together as much as he could, and only went on when he regained his composure again.

‘I was a wimp, that's it. No other reasons behind this. That's just how it has always been, I feel guilty for not meeting their expectations and fuck up everything even more. I'll tell them, I can do it right now if you want. Just… they can't learn from the press, Rog.’

‘Well, no need for that,’ Roger said, aimlessly sorting through the baby's clothes. He wouldn’t look at Brian anymore, and the older man couldn’t see his face to evaluate how much trouble he was in. ‘Do as you want, I don't care. I won't tell anyone, if that's what you fear. Now get your stuff and get out.’

‘What?’ the guitarist laughed, feeling a bit shaky on his legs.

‘Get out, Brian. Or I won't be responsible for what happens.’

‘You don't mean this. Can we please talk this over?’ he tried to reason him, but Roger wasn't having any of it.

‘I mean every bloody word of it. Bugger off before I smash anything on your head.’ The younger man was apparently losing the little patience that he had, and his voice was getting louder with every second. ‘All you do is talk but it's pointless, Brian, everything you say is just _pointless_. This doesn't work and never will, and I'm done with trying. Go find someone who won't be a bother to you, maybe Chrissie will have you back if you're _really_ lucky. If the band survives, we'll work as we used to, but apart from that, fuck off.’

‘And if it doesn't?’

‘Then we go on, that's it. End of story. You can see her if you want to, but _this_ has to be over.’                                          

Brian found himself speechless, as he stood in a room where just a few moments ago they were planning their life together, and now he was told to leave as if none of that had ever happened.

Logically he knew he had screwed up and probably deserved Roger’s anger, but he also couldn’t help the feeling that this wasn’t fair. Because it _wasn’t_.

He did one thing wrong while trying to do everything right, and Roger would still accuse him of all sorts of evils, making him the guilty party again and again. And that’s how it had always been. He’d always been the first to apologise after a fight, always the one who tried to make peace, even if it wasn’t he who started the whole thing. Even if he hadn’t done anything wrong at all.

But Roger wouldn’t do that, no. He would overdramatise and throw a tantrum whenever he didn’t like something, and frankly, Brian was just too done with it. He had the right to slip up just once.

He only realised he was outside when he heard himself slam the front door. He didn’t mean to but didn’t feel bad about it either. If this was what Roger wanted, he could have it. A new life, then? Let it be a new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> Here's the new chapter. A bit dark in the end, wasn't it? I didn't initially plan it to be this way but I also knew something was coming aaaand... it came. And yes, some of you guys guessed Brian lied about his parents in the prev. chapter, so, yup, you were right:D 
> 
> Anyway, let's see how it goes, and thanks for reading!


	16. Chapter 16

‘Hello, Roger. It's Jim.’

‘Umm, yes. Hi, Miami,’ he yawned into the phone, rubbing his eyes. The sun was peeking through the shutters, and he was still trying to adjust his sight to the light.  'What is it?'

‘I wonder if you'd mind coming to my office today? Say, at two o'clock?’ the manager inquired cautiously.

‘Why?’ he asked dumbly, looking at the clock on the wall. Fucking nine in the morning, was the man kidding him?

‘Brian and John are also coming,’ the manager added matter-of-factly, and Roger wondered why he would even think that was a legitimate reason for him to go. So far it was a reason to do quite the opposite.

‘Marvellous. l still don't get why, though.’

‘Band business,’ the man retorted which didn't sound too convincing and was rather unlike their manager. And a bit weird.

For a moment Roger thought that maybe they'd decided to admit they were beating a dead horse, pretending Queen was still a thing, and we're going to bid farewell to each other for good.

Which, if you asked him, was doomed to happen, but then again, Jim would have probably mentioned it. 

‘If that's nothing too important then I'm out,’ he said, already busy thinking about what he could be having for breakfast. 

It was funny how radically his priorities had changed over the past couple of months, but to tell the truth, he was mildly enjoying it. Subconsciously he knew he'd been turning from a rockstar into a very decent couch potato, but it didn't feel as bad as it had seemed. After all, he wasn't going to stay like this forever, he just needed some time off from all kinds of duties, responsibilities, and from… whatever the man on the other end was asking.

‘Roger,’ tried to reason him Jim but the drummer wasn't really having it.

‘Don't _Roger_ me, I'm sure you'll manage, you'll have the brains of the band anyway. If they decide to break up or something… dunno, give me a call, would be nice to know.’

He hung up the phone, having a flashback of Brian doing the exact same thing the day he kicked the guitarist out. It had all started with that call, and Roger wondered what novelty this one would bring into his life. Hopefully, _nothing._

And yes, whatever the hell it was, they could manage just fine. If it was that urgent, Miami would have told him right away. If it wasn't, then the ever-so-clever Brian and John would help him with whatever the problem was. He didn't feel like meeting any of his bandmates, and if Jim had already talked to them, he had to be aware they weren't really best of mates at the moment. 

It wasn't that he had fallen out with Deaky, but the bassist would constantly try to contact him and meet him, and Roger didn't actually want to. He knew very well how it was going to go.

All his life people had been trying to talk some sense into him as if he was an incompetent,  silly child and didn't know what he was doing. This would be no exception unless he did know what he was doing because he'd been right all along.

He'd let himself believe Brian and he could make it work but deep inside he'd just known it wasn't going to last, and still, _still_ he'd let himself be convinced it was worth to try. It did work for a while, but the realisation that it was yet another failure was exponentially worse than what would've been had they never tried.

They were too different. Back in the day, some people would wonder how they had even managed to stay friends despite the fact they couldn't come to a consensus on a single thing. They didn't really share any interests besides music, had different outlooks on life and totally incompatible characters, which sometimes would lead to some serious frictions between the two.

Over the years, the nonstop arguments had become an integral part of their relationship, but somehow they had never actually made any difference. As long as they cared for each other, everything else didn't matter. They would make up and go on as if nothing had happened until the next time someone pissed the other off. In a way, it was just an endless circle but they both fine with it. 

The thing was, he should have known it didn't work the same way between people who weren't exactly _friends_ anymore. He was still angry, yes, but this was a completely different type of anger, and Roger wasn't sure how to deal with it.

There was no sign of the man in his life anymore. He hadn't called, hadn't shown up, and hadn't even bothered to collect his stuff as he left, which didn't impress the drummer one bit. The very next day, almost every single item that belonged to the guitarist could be found in the nearest dustbin, including some of his clothes, his toothbrush and other whatnots which had had the misfortune to be brought to his house.

The only thing Roger couldn't bring himself to throw away was Brian's old Stratocaster which had ended up there as a substitute for the Red Special, which was just too precious to be aimlessly carried around. Roger owned quite a lot of guitars himself but the older man had always preferred to play on his own stuff, so he had brought one to keep there. Not that it mattered now, but a musician himself, Roger just couldn't get rid of a decent instrument like that. 

He tried not to think of Brian, though. He'd grown accustomed to having the man near him almost all the time and now it felt unusually lonely to be on his own like this. Not having John, and other non-Queen friends around didn't help the matter either.  He would still meet some of them when the pregnancy wasn't that obvious but now it wasn't really an option, which was most frustrating. He had told his sister, though, and his mother would now nag him even harder than before. He hadn't explained Brian's sudden disappearance, and she apparently didn't want to put up with simply not knowing. 

He'd also called Crystal just not to go crazy of boredom, and… got the most predictable reaction there ever could be. It was obviously a bad idea to do it over the phone, as he soon grew rather tired of the hysterical laughter on the other end. The very quiet _are you serious_ that came a bit later did somewhat change his mind about murdering the man next time he saw him, but overall, he found that part of the conversation pretty annoying.

Well, frankly, though, being annoying was one of the many traits he and the roadie shared and… probably one of the reasons why they got on so well. He was forever grateful when the man didn't ask any questions concerning why and how it had happened and made a mental note to call him again sometime soon to go for a meal or a few pints. Pints of… lemonade, apparently. They would decide.

He had stayed true to his word and hadn't told the press but that didn't mean he actually cared whether they would find out or not, and it was an amazing feeling. 

After having spent a whole bunch of months worrying about it and overthinking it until he couldn't even sleep, now it felt as if a great load had been taken off his chest. It just felt nice not to care for once. He could again go anywhere he wanted, could do whatever he wished, and even though there were the odd looks from the strangers, he hadn't yet noticed a single newspaper with _breaking news_ next to his face. 

Roger made himself a nice bowl of banana porridge, along with a few small toasts and tea. There was no one there to nag him about what he was eating, but he felt like he didn't want to get even more annoyed with his body than he already had. Surprisingly, he'd come into terms with the fact he looked _slightly_ different from how he normally would, but didn't really want to exacerbate it, and would try not to give in to all his cravings. Baby weight was one thing. A late-night croissant and its direct consequences, for example, were another.

As soon as he was done with breakfast, he left everything in the sink to wash later. He knew future Roger wouldn't be too grateful, but presently there were some other things he'd rather be doing. The drummer didn't know why he'd got productive again, but it was the first time in quite a while when he could actually work on his music, and a few dirty plates could absolutely wait. If Queen wasn't going to make it, he had to be sure he had enough material for a solo album. Together or not, he didn't have any desire to end his career in his thirties when years of hard work had finally been rewarded.

Roger was quite aware he was not a natural lyricist and would often struggle with his words when he was younger but this time they turned out to be the easier part. 

Maybe it was the realisation that he didn't have to explain himself to anyone, anticipating either criticism or condescension, or maybe the recent events in his life were just too much for him to keep inside. Either way, he was going to make the most of it. 

What he found the hardest to do, however, was most frustrating. Drums. He was a _drummer_ who could really _drum_ anymore. It wasn't that it was time to work on the beat, but playing his instrument had always had a soothing and relaxing effect on him, and despite the fact he hadn't done it for more than a month, he didn't think it would be this bad.  Back then it had already been getting quite uncomfortable for him just to sit on the tiny stool without his back protesting against it, but he still could work.

With all the preparations for the baby, he had decided to give himself a little break but now it was supposed to be over and he couldn't really come back. It just didn't feel right at all. He was way too big, his back was killing him, and there was just too much pressure down there that he couldn't really describe. He tried to ignore it for a while, as the dull ache seemed to subside a bit but still gave up pretty soon. It wasn't relaxing and didn't make him feel particularly well.

Though to be frank,  it wasn't that the rest of the time he felt particularly brilliant. When Brian was there, a lot of things were much easier because he simply wouldn't do them. The guitarist hadn't moved in with him, of course, but he was around a great deal of time and Roger could occasionally send him after a snack or would get a nice massage that would sooth the nasty feeling in his spine. Now he was on his own, and even though he knew he still could cope alone pretty well, some things just took much more time and effort. Also, the bloody Braxton Hicks that Dr Bates had warned him about would still drive him into a mild panic every time felt something remotely like that, and that didn't help either.

He called it a day with his attempts to work on the beat but wasn't discouraged to go on with the texts for a while, as they were coming together quite nicely. He didn't even realise he'd spent a few hours writing down the new ideas and rewriting the old stuff that needed polishing, but what he could feel, however, was a sense of pure elation in his chest that he hadn't had for quite a while. Roger gave himself a mental high-five when he knew he was done and gathered the papers back into their folder. 

It was already four in the afternoon, and he didn't have any plans for the rest of the day. The weather was rather nasty to go out, and the sunshine that annoyed him in the morning was now dearly missed. It rained a lot that spring and the hours when it was sunny and nice were rare and occasional. 

Roger made himself a big mug of Earl Grey, desperately thinking of something to do not to get bored. But then his mum called and he knew it was going to be long. Every conversation with his mother would turn into an interrogation where he had to confirm that he was indeed feeling well, that he was eating a healthy diet and everything was more than ready for the baby to come, despite the fact it wasn't supposed to happen for another month, and there was plenty of time to rearrange things if necessary. 

And yet, she wound, again and again, ask the same questions and would never forget to mention Brian which was the exact moment when he'd tell her he needed to go. This time was no exception. She talked for forty minutes and asked whether he'd also like to tell his father, which sounded like the funniest joke he'd ever heard. Now that his parents were divorced, nothing on earth would make him tell the man he'd got knocked up by another guy. If there was one person who wouldn't understand, that was him. Roger wondered if Brian felt the same way when he was to tell his own parents, but it was not an excuse. Harold May was nothing like his dad.

Roger later turned on the TV, hoping to kill some time. The baby was being unusually inactive that day but there was still the weird feeling in his back, so he decided to relax and put his feet up for a while. It was more about switching the channels than actually watching the thing. He once stopped on the MTV just to check what kind of rubbish they were showing after banning their music video and was both satisfied and dissatisfied with his guess. It _was_ rubbish. He then switched it off again until he decided to watch Rocky on one of the channels. 

It was either the couch that was too soft, or the house that was too dark, but his eyes started to close after some ten or fifteen minutes. 

He woke up with a gasp when the film was almost over and couldn't actually register what woke him up. There seemed to be the too many things at the same time - the loud noise from the TV, the thunder outside the window, the tingling in his back that just wouldn't pass, and the weird tapping noise that came from somewhere in his house. And it took his sleepy head quite some time to realise what it was.

Someone was knocking, though _knocking_ wasn't the right word for it. It sounded like someone was trying to kick down the blasted door, and the knocks were only getting stronger with every second that he wouldn't open. Whoever it was, they were quite persistent, and the drummer realised had no other option than to yield. Which didn't mean they were going to like it. 

The drummer cursed under his breath and waddled to the door, already thinking of all the sweet things he was going to say to his unwanted visitor. The funny thing, however, was that he couldn't utter a single word when actually saw the other person. 

He just stood there, baffled, trying to figure out what was happening, one hand still on the doorknob. He wasn't sure his mind could properly function at the moment, but one voice from deep inside was telling him to shut the door that instant, and the other… almost urged him to pull the other man into a hug and never let go again. 

And still, he did neither of that and just stood there unable to say anything.

The other person, however, didn't suffer such a sudden loss of the communication skill, as in just a moment Roger was bombarded with a myriad of angry and incoherent sentences that still didn't give him a single clue about what was going on.

‘I mean _what the hell_ , no one tells me _anything_ , they just keep s-staring at each other like I'm some kind of an idiot, that poodle only mumbles funny stuff and says I can't come here and _you know what_ , like hell I can't, this is totally ridiculous, if you ask me.’

The man only stopped when he appeared to be short of breath but needless to say that didn't last for too long.

After all, nothing could ever stop him if he didn't want to. Nothing, really.

 

‘I was so worried, darling.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I used to update once a week in the beginning? Yeah, neither do I.  
> But hey, it's nice to do it again after a while, so here's the new chapter, hope you liked it. 
> 
> Because I certainly liked writing it, there was something I was reeeaaally looking forward to, if you know what I mean 6.6


	17. Chapter 17

‘Where are they?’

Freddie was sat at Jim Beach's office, shaking like a little child at the dentist's. He kept reminding himself there was no reason for him to be so anxious about the meeting, there was no reason to be so scared. They had agreed to come, and that was all that mattered. They'd had arguments before. _Loud_ arguments that would last for days and weeks. 

Arguments that had never made any difference. 

As long as they could work on their music, as long as they could bring back that sparkle of magic that had once drawn them together, they could weather any storm, including this one.

This was all for a reason, Freddie would like to think, but he needed to talk to them and needed to be heard. They'd all had their share of hurt feelings and resentments, but at the end of the day, it wasn't important anymore. All that they had left was _here and now_ , and he was sure he'd never known the value of time any better.

‘They're late,’ shrugged the manager, and he knew exactly what he meant. Of course, they were. No one said it was going to be easy, and he had to prepare himself for all the possible reactions. Anger, frustration… random objects flying in his direction... He didn't mind. That would only mean some things would never change, and that was what he was hoping for.

Freddie flinched when the door opened, and the all familiar endless mane of dark hair appeared in the doorway, followed by the ever-quiet bassist, who could be a most intimidating person, he had to remind himself. Too bad that wasn't what he was thinking of last time they talked.

And still, he couldn't begin to describe how relieved he was just to see them again, right there, in front of him. The nagging feeling they might not show up wouldn't leave until the very last minute. The relief didn't last long, though. Soon Brian and John were seated on the sofa next to him, and there was no one else in the room but them and the manager.

‘Will Rog come by later?’ Freddie asked, unsure whether he wanted to hear the answer or not.

‘I'm afraid he won't be able to make it today, Fred,’ said Miami, giving him an apologetic smile. The younger man nodded, thinking he must've known something like this might happen. Roger was Roger, and if he wanted to show he was mad at you, he bloody well would.

‘So?’ said Brian, trying to break the awkward silence. Freddie was still trying to collect his thoughts so Jim spoke instead of him.

‘Well, hi guys. Glad you made it, and… if anyone wants any tea, coffee… bladed weapons… just ask,’ he finished on a nonchalant note. Freddie had a feeling the man was mildly enjoying himself, but he could get it. Jim was the one to deal with the press and their contracts and documents, and a lot of other stuff they weren't really interested in, and it was obvious he hadn't had the time of his life during the past few months. He owed the man an apology as well.

‘So who wants to go first?’

‘I'll start,’ Freddie said, feeling he couldn't linger anymore. This had to be done, and it was either now or never.

‘I've been hideous. I know that, and...I deserve your fury. I've been conceited...selfish. Well, an asshole, basically.’ 

He bit his lip, expecting at least some kind of a reaction but no one said anything so he had no other choice but to go on. ‘Look, I'm happy to strip off my shirt and flagellate myself before you or rather… I could ask you a simple question,’ he sighed, wondering if that would break the ice at last.

‘What's it gonna take for you all to forgive me?’

‘Is that what you want, Freddie?’ Brian asked, looking rather unimpressed. ‘I forgive you. Is that it, can we go now?’

‘No.’

God, he needed to explain himself. He needed them to understand it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows back in Germany. There were so many things he wished he could change, but it was all in the past now, and he had to go on. And the most important thing now was to make them realise they still needed each other. They always had. And if the band had any terms or requirements... he would listen. Oh yeah, he would.

Freddie spoke for a while, feeling they weren't going to interrupt him and wouldn’t argue. When he was done, all three pairs of eyes were fixed on him and he was trying to understand if at least one word had had its impact. 

‘Could you... give us a moment, please, Fred?’ Brian asked, and Freddie could only nod in response. It would be a lie to say it didn't break his heart a bit, but he was in no position to bargain. They could take their time if they wanted. The only problem was he wasn't sure how much time he could offer himself.

When he was finally allowed back into the room, he somehow knew it was going to be fine. They had their terms, yes, but everything now seemed so minor and unimportant, it was funny to think they once would argue over such trivial things. He was back, and that was all that mattered. 

‘So… all settled, I guess?’ John smiled for the first time during the day, and Freddie couldn't help but return the smile. It felt like home to be sat among friends like this, having a cup of tea instead of liquor, just chatting and enjoying each other's company. He once again felt inspired, robust and full of energy, and the strange anxiety that wouldn't leave him alone for quite a while now was finally gone.

‘I say…’ he coughed, wondering if that would be too much for just one day. ‘Actually, what if we hit the studio, boys? Just to jam a bit… I-I've missed it, haven't you? Just playing like we used to. We- we can go fetch the blondie, I mean… I can handle a few flying pans and plates... and… I just need this,’ he finished, feeling his excitement mix with desperate hope, and fear of rejection.

Silence fell over the room once again. Brian seemed to have held his breath, Jim was shooting glares at the two men, and John just sat frozen, glancing at the guitarist with an uneasy look his face. Suddenly it didn't feel like home anymore, and Freddie was trying to understand what it was that was causing the change.

‘That would be a bit problematic,’ John said but wasn't too eager to continue.

‘Deaky, dear, is there anything else I should know?’ Freddie asked, now getting a bit frustrated with the situation. One had to be a complete idiot not to see that something was wrong, and their silence was making him think they considered him one.

‘Nothing which is mine to tell but maybe you should ask Brian,’ the bassist said, earning a rather annoyed look from the said man and paying it with an equally smug smirk. Freddie's gaze switched to the guitarist, but Brian's eyes were now fixed on his lap, and overall, he suddenly looked pretty uncomfortable. It looked like he wanted to say something, but whatever that was making him anxious just wouldn't let him. Freddie, still clueless, felt worry creep into his heart at the sight. 

‘Fred, it's been a hard day, why don't we keep this for another time,’ the man said, and it was obvious it took him a lot of effort to sound casual. He got off the sofa and made sure John had no other choice than to do the same. If looks could kill, Brian would probably be dead now, but he chose to ignore every single person in the room who was staring at him.

‘I'm sure we all have a lot to share anyway, and besides, I doubt Jim wants us to hang out here all day long. And we haven't been in the studio for a while, I think it may be a bit… empty.’

That was the lamest excuse Brian could have come up with, and John looked as if he was ready to roll his eyes into his head for good.

‘You can stay here as long as you want, Brian, I don't mind,’ Jim said indifferently. ‘If there's anything you'd like to add...’

‘It's alright Miami, thanks,’ said Freddie witnessing an obvious relief on Brian's face. It seemed like he wasn't the only one who had messed up there. This was getting interesting.‘He's right, let's… take things slow.’

He wouldn't do that, of course, but they were going nowhere with the conversation, and it was just making him feel uneasy. 

Something wasn't quite alright, he could tell, and for some reason Brian was expected to enlighten him, which he just wouldn't do. Neither would Jim and John, despite the fact they had at least tried to make the man talk.

No, this wasn't going anywhere, and Freddie needed to take control of the situation before he started imagining all kinds of silly things. If they didn't want to share, he'd make sure they didn't have to.

Once they were out of the office and in the street again, it was clear there would get drenched to the bone before they even attempted to get to the car park. It was pouring, and the weather only seemed to get worse with every passing moment. Thunderbolt and lighting weren't very fighting, but he still didn't fancy the idea of staying outside, which he had to do now. Going home sounded nice, but he had a business to finish.

‘Where's your car, Fred? You want a lift?’ John asked, noticing the driver and the car were nowhere to be seen. The truth was, the singer hadn't even had the chance to call the man, and for the time being, taxis were his only means of transport. It was fine, though. He'd never learnt to drive and didn't really care about who was giving him a ride.

‘Thanks, dear, I'll get a cab. I just remembered I have a few places to be.’

Perhaps that didn't sound too credible, as the bassist gave him a questioning look and was most definitely going to protest had he had the actual chance. Freddie had already stopped a car and got into it before the other man could even utter a word.  

 

* * *

 

If someone asked Roger what day or year it was, he wasn't sure he would be able to answer. He wasn't even entirely sure this wasn't a dream and he wasn't still napping on his couch. He was still sleepy, and this all didn't seem too real. The man hadn't quite expected to see what, or rather _whom_ he was seeing, and for once in his life, he didn't know how to react or what to say. He wished someone explained to him what on earth was happening, but before he even knew what he was doing, he slammed the door with all his might. 

He then opened it again because it wasn't what he'd intended or meant to do. And then thought of doing so again.

In the meantime, Freddie was apparently getting tired of the drummer's indecisive behaviour, as before Roger could think of what he was going to do next, the older man had already got into his house. The singer had finally stopped ranting about _someone_ not telling him _something_ , and Roger started to realise what it was all about. Miami's earlier call and ambiguous answers suddenly started making perfect sense. 

Which didn't matter now, because the singer was right there, in his sitting room, and he was stood by the door, desperately trying to think of a plan. His mind was telling him the man would've noticed by now but he couldn't make himself move. How was he supposed to explain this? Did he really have to explain?

‘What for the fuck's sake are you doing here?’ Roger heard himself say when he finally made it back to the room. The TV was still on, and the annoying song from a yoghurt commercial made the situation seem somewhat comical. Which it wasn't. It wasn't funny one bit.

Freddie gave him a weird look, and it was obvious he'd ran out of words as well. Huh, who could have even thought it was possible.

‘Roger, I…’ he tried to start, but his throat seemed to go dry. _Yeah, he'd noticed._

‘You _what_?’ the drummer asked, feeling confusion give way to frustration. Which, he felt, might very soon turn into proper anger. Some other day he might've found the man's reaction somewhat amusing, but right now he was pretty much done with everything.

Freddie took a deep breath before trying to speak again.

‘I wanted to talk to you. Deaky and Brian wouldn't tell me what happened, and I just… wanted to make sure you were fine.’

Roger chuckled at his words. He almost wished he was present at the meeting just to see their faces, but he wasn't sure he needed another reminder of how Brian felt about the whole situation. The man apparently just couldn't say the thing no matter what.

‘Well, what do you think? You think I'm fine?’ the blond asked sarcastically, realising the situation did, in fact, look a bit comical now. Too bad it hurt more.

‘I think you're… amazing, dear.’

_What?_

Roger was now once again confused, but Freddie seemed to have got over the initial shock. He still looked a bit pale, but the man would usually get hold of his feelings quite quickly, and the drummer had to admit he'd always admired that quality in Freddie. Probably because it wasn't something characteristic of him as well.

‘Why didn't you tell me?’ the singer asked, his voice now as steady as ever, and Roger let out a nervous chuckle. If there was one thing the younger man couldn't be accused of, this was it.

‘You were the first fucking person I called, Fred,’ he said, remembering quite well how disillusioned he was afterwards. ‘And _apparently,_ you were just too busy to talk, which I highly doubt, of course. That's all according to your little pet. Where is he, by the way?’

Freddie suddenly looked so tired at Paul's mention that Roger felt a pang of worry for the older man. In fact, he had every right in the world to be mad at the singer but the last thing he wanted was his friend to get hurt for being slightly naive and trusting bastards who should be avoided at all costs.

‘Paul's out. I fired him.’

‘On what pretext?’

‘Villainy,’ Freddie smiled, and it wasn't a happy smile, but to his own surprise, Roger was able to return it. It seemed like the damage was done after all, and he wasn't going to gloat. He didn't know why Freddie was suddenly back or what they'd been discussing at the meeting earlier that day but it didn't look like someone was _making_ him, and if that was a voluntary decision… Roger wasn't going to shun him.

The thing was, he could try to convince himself he was still angry at the man, but what would be the point? He wasn't. At least not anymore. He'd told himself so many times this might never happen, that they might never even talk again that all he could feel now was relief. They had all wronged each other in many ways and more than once, and there was really no point in clinging to what had been said and done. If he wanted to be back, the drummer would never mind that. 

Though now that Roger wasn't baffled anymore by the sudden visit, he wondered what exactly looked a bit off in the man's appearance. And then it clicked.

‘Fred, you're dripping,’ he said, realising the man was stood under the rain the whole time when he was doing his tricks with the door. He was positively soaked, actually.

‘Well, I'd love to tell you how that happened, a remarkable story indeed, but I think you should tell me how _that_ happened first,’ Freddie pointed at his bump, and the drummer knew the conversation was inevitable. Which didn’t mean he was going to give up so easily. 

‘My, Fred, I thought you knew how babies are made.’

Roger slightly winced at his words, as the baby decided to misbehave down there. She wasn't kicking but the weird pain in his back, which had accompanied him for the whole day, now seemed to get annoyingly bad. Freddie glanced at him oddly but thankfully didn't comment.

‘Well yes, dear, I actually do. But I assumed your own babies would come out of… someone else, you know…So pardon me finding this a bit unexpected.’

Roger felt an urge to hit him with a cushion for such wording, but, yeah, who could blame the man? This was everything he wasn't supposed to be. 

‘Though I think I can put a few pieces together myself,’ Freddie went on, taking his shirt off and pulling on another Roger had brought him from the bedroom. ‘Just skip to the part when you and our dear guitarist decided to procreate.’

The towel Roger was going to give him landed right on his head, which only made the man laugh underneath the cloth.

‘You arsehole,’ Roger snorted, propping himself with the back of the couch. In other circumstances, he'd probably pay more attention to how uncomfortable it started to feel just to stand upright but now he simply brushed it off, feeling the pressure subside a bit. He'd got used to having all kinds of weird pains during the past few months, and the last thing he wanted to do was to freak out the other man, who wasn't so familiar with all the pregnancy perks. 

‘This wasn't supposed to happen.’

‘Well, apparently it was if you two lovies fucked for once and now you're ready to pop. I can't fathom how much you must've had though, I can't quite remember the… _occasion_? Where was I? I mean, no offence, dear, but this definitely happened before Munich,’ he finished, nodding to his own words.

Oh, so this was his theory? That they'd had one too many, and it just happened not to ever happen again?

‘Umm, Fred, you remember the American tour for Hot Space?’ Roger asked, feeling that he was actually going to enjoy this part of the conversation. _No offence_ , but he _really_ wanted to see the man's expression when he learnt for how long he failed to notice what had been happening… well, right under his nose.

‘When we all hated each other and you two wouldn't stop bitching about a single thing? Yeah, rings a bell.’

‘It was… justified bitching, but yes, that one. Consider that your occasion,’ Roger said, giving the man time to think. He went into the kitchen to pop the kettle on, just in case Freddie was still getting warm. The other man followed him to the archway, a frown plastered on his face.

‘Darling, that was four years ago,’ Freddie said, looking confused to the bone. Roger nodded.

‘I know?’

‘So how can you be…?’

 

...

 

‘Freddie,’ Roger said, feeling the man wasn't catching on in the slightest, ‘there can be more than one occasion, you know.’

The singer only shook his head, still not entirely convinced in what he was hearing. ‘No, I have an eye for such things and I would've noticed if you two…’

‘Then maybe you need glasses?’ Roger inquired, crossing his hands. This was getting amusing now. Freddie was still staring at him suspiciously but apparently, he knew he lost this one.

‘ _Nooo_ , shut up.’

‘Oh yeah.’

A silence fell over the kitchen, and to be frank, watching Freddie's reaction now turned out to be a rather boring activity. For some reason, he couldn't stop frowning, and Roger got a bit puzzled himself about what could be bothering the man so much.

‘I thought it was _hopeless_.’

‘What was hopeless?’ he asked, suddenly being the one who wasn't digging. The kettle was starting to whistle, but he still wouldn't take it off.

‘Well, you were quite… lovey-dovey when I met you,’ Freddie said, making it sound like the most obvious thing in the world. Unless it wasn't true. Brian had never been interested, and Roger made sure he never stared or did anything that could give it away.

‘No, we weren't,’ he said, finally pouring the water into the mugs. He added a bit of whiskey into one of them, handing it to Freddie right away not to mix up. He didn't really feel like talking about Brian and hoped the other man wouldn't go on with the topic, which just wasn't meant to happen, of course.

‘Yes, you were,’ the older man said, taking a sip. ‘Ah, _love_ the milk. But what I wanted to say is the poor little darling couldn't stop yearning, and you were none the better. And then it just went nowhere,’ he shrugged, too preoccupied with his tea now.

Roger wasn't sure how to react. Freddie wasn't wrong about him but he definitely mistook him for someone else that Brian had been yearning for. He would've known, or Brian would've told him when they were already together. But no, that wasn't what he said, was it? He ended up telling Roger they were dating because there was nothing else for them to lose, and what fucking kind of love was that? No, thank you, he didn't need any more illusions concerning his relationship with the guitarist, and the sooner he accepted the reality the…

‘Oh _fuck_.’ 

Roger didn't even register how he yelped, his mind going blank in a millisecond. It felt like someone had just punched all the air out of his lungs, and suddenly he found it extremely hard just to breathe. The dull pain he'd been trying to ignore for hours now made a nasty comeback, and to be honest, he wasn't sure anymore it was totally alright to feel that way.

‘Rog?’

Freddie was now next to him, looking rather pale, apparently trying to figure out what was happening. Roger wanted to tell him to relax and not to make a fuss over nothing but the idea that something might actually be wrong with her terrified him more than he could've expected. 

It probably _was_ nothing, though. She was big enough now to make his existence much more uncomfortable than it used to be, and yes, it was supposed to get worse with time. His body had its natural capacity, and there was another month to go, what else could he expect?

Roger took a deep breath, trying to stop himself from panicking. He was fine, really. Totally fine.

The drummer even winked at Freddie just to ease the tension and bring the man back to his senses, but the singer still looked at him with the weirdest expression possible. He must've given the man quite a fright.

‘S-sorry,’ Roger laughed, trying to act as normal as he could. ‘Didn't mean to scare you. I'm okay, it was just...’

He looked down. 

_Just in case._

Just to rule out the absolutely wild assumption that something was leaking down his leg but for some reason, it happened to be true.

Something was indeed soaking his trousers, and the chances were the older man had noticed it slightly before he did.

 ...

‘Roger, dear,’ started Freddie, though seemed to be unsure about how to go on, ‘w-why don't you have a sit, huh? I think you should, actually...yes...yeah, definitely... Oh,  for God's sake down, just sit down!’

The drummer only started at him, his brain desperately trying to process whatever the hell was going on but it didn't really work at the moment. He was sure it was some kind of a mistake, it _had to be_.

There was no reason for Freddie to panic like that.

There was no reason for him to sit down.

Because it couldn’t be happening. It just couldn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hello there. Yes, guess what's happeniiiing 6.6 
> 
> Wow, it really took me a while to get to this point in this story but I'm really glad we're here as I kinda see how the rest of it should be from now on.
> 
> Again, thanks so much for reading, hope you liked this, hope you're excited (because I am!!) <3 
> 
> P.S. and sorry for any typos and funny stuff, 4k+ chapters are a bit hard for me to check, and I type this on my phone.


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